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C.  F.  WELLER, 

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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

"Ma"  Crandell 


jh^_  a^        J"  C     * 


/ 


"THE    UNVEILED    DANCERS    CAME    AND    WENT  " 


DC 


VC 


s=5S^H 


r 


THE  WEAVERS 

A  TALE  OF  ENGLAND  AND  EGYPT 
OF  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 


BY 

GILBERT    PARKER 

AUTHOR  OF 

'  THE  RIGHT  OF  WAY  "  "  THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY  ' 

ETC.      ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
ANDRE    CASTAIGNE 


M 


111 


NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 
HARPER  &■  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

MCMVII 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


NOVELS  AND  STORIES 
PIERRE  AND   HIS  PEOPLE 
MRS.   FALCHION 
THE  TRESPASSER 

THE  TRANSLATION  OF  A  SAVAGE 
THE  TRAIL   OF   THE  SWORD 
WHEN   VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 
AN   ADVENTURER  OF  THE  NORTH 
THE  SEATS   OF  THE  MIGHTY 
THE   POMP   OF  THE  LAVILETTES 
THE   BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 
THE   LANE  THAT  HAD  NO  TURNING 
THE  RIGHT  OF  WAY 
DONOVAN   PASHA 
A   LADDER  OF  SWORDS 

HISTORY 

OLD  QUEBEC.   (In  collaboration  with  C.  G.  Bryan.) 

TRAVEL 
ROUND  THE   COMPASS  IN   AUSTRALIA 

POETRY 

A   LOVER'S   DIARY 


Copyright,  190b,  1907,  by   Hakpkk  &  Brothers. 
Copyright,  1907,  by  Gilbert  Parker. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  September,  1907. 


i. 

51 


BEAUTIFUL   AND   BELOVED 

THIS 

TO 
YOU 


1152934 


CHAP. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK   I 


PAGB 


I.  As  the  Spirit  Moved 3 

II.  The  Gates  of  the  World 7 

III.  Banished 24 

IV.  The  Call 31 

BOOK    II 

V.  The  Wider  Way 41 

VI.  "Hast  Thou  Never  Killed  a  Man?"      ...  59 

VII.  The  Compact 81 

VIII.  For  His  Soul's  Sake  and  the  Land's  Sake    .  87 

IX.  The  Letter,  The  Night,  and  The  Woman  .     .  94 

X.  The  Four  Who  Knew 106 

XI.  Against  the  Hour  of  Midnight 123 

XII.  The  Jehad  and  the  Lions 141 

XIII.  Achmet  the  Rope-maker  Strikes 161 

XIV.  Beyond  the  Pale 167 

BOOK    III 

XV.  Soolsby's  Hand  Upon  the  Curtain    ....  181 

XVI.  The  Debt  and  the  Accounting 189 

XVII.  The  Woman  of  the  Cross-roads 203 

XVIII.  Time  the  Idol-breaker         208 

XIX.  Sharper  than  a  Sword 221 

v 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  pAGB 

XX.  Each  After  His  Own  Order 233 

XXI.  "There   is  Nothing  Hidden  Which  Shall 

Not  Be  Revealed" 244 

XXII.  As  in  a  Glass  Darkly 255 

XXIII.  The  Tents  of  Cushan 268 

XXIV.  The  Questioner 291 

XXV            The  Voice  Through  the  Door 300 

XXVI.  "I  Owe  You  Nothing" 309 

XXVII.  The  Awakening 318 

BOOK   IV 

XXVIII.  Nahoum  Turns  the  Screw 345 

XXIX.  The  Recoil 355 

XXX.  Lacey  Moves 367 

XXXI.  The  Struggle  in  the  Desert 379 

XXXII.  Forty  Stripes  Save  One 395 

XXXIII.  The  Dark  Indenture 405 

XXXIV.  Nahoum  Drops  the  Mask 412 

BOOK   V 

XXXV.  The  Flight  of  the  Wounded 425 

XXXVI.  "Is  It  Always  So— In  Life?' 439 

XXXVII.  The  Flying  Shuttle 445 

XXXVIII.  Jasper  Kimber  Speaks 452 

XXXIX.  Faith  Makes  a  Journey 464 

BOOK   VI 

XL.               Hylda  Seeks  Nahoum 47  * 

XLI.              In  the  Land  of  Shinar 487 

XLII.           The  Loom  of  Destiny 5°6 

Glossary 53  x 

vi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE   UNVEILED  DANCERS  CAME   AND   WENT 


Frontispiece 


"  RAISING  THE   FLUTE  TO  HIS  LIPS,  HE  BEGAN  TO  PLAY        Fac 
"  FOR    THIS   LAND HIS    LIFE,   AND    HIS    LOVE,   AND    HIS 

FAITH  " 

"'DOST    THOU    THINK    I    DID    NOT     KNOW    MY    DANGER, 

EMINENCE?'" 

"SHE  WATCHIiD  HIM   PASS  THROUGH    THE   GARDEN" 
"'THIS       IS      MY      CASTLE,      MY      LORD  YOU       LODGE 

YONDER ' "       

"HE    HEARD    A    VOICE    SAY,  '  SPEAK SPEAK   TO    ME 

"DAVID    LOOKED    OUT    UPON    IT    ALL    WITH    EMOTIONS 

NOT    YET    WHOLLY    MASTERED  " 


ng  p.    20 


90 


I48 
256 

320 
396 

526 


NOTE 

This  book  is  not  intended  to  be  an  historical  novel, 
nor  are  its  characters  meant  to  be  identified  with  well- 
known  persons  connected  with  the  history  of  England 
or  of  Egypt ;  but  all  that  is  essential  in  the  tale  is  based 
upon,  and  drawn  from  the  life  of  both  countries.  Though 
Egypt  has  greatly  changed  during  the  past  generation, 
away  from  Cairo  and  the  commercial  centres  the  wheels 
of  social  progress  have  turned  but  slowly,  and  much  re- 
mains as  it  was  in  the  days  of  which  this  book  is  a  record 
— in  the  spirit  of  the  life  at  least. 

G.  P. 


"Dost  thou  spread  the  sail,  throw  the  spear,  swing  the 
axe,  lay  thy  hand  upon  the  plough,  attend  the  furnace 
door,  shepherd  the  sheep  upon  the  hills,  gather  corn  from 
the  field,  or  smite  the  rock  in  the  quarry  ?  Yet  whatever 
thy  task,  thou  art  even  as  one  who  twists  the  thread  and 
throws  the  shuttle,  weaving  the  web  of  Life.  Ye  are 
all  weavers,  and  Allah  the  Merciful,  does  He  not  watch 
beside  the  loom?" 


BOOK    I 


THE    WEAVERS 


AS    THE     SPIRIT     MOVED 

The  village  lay  in  a  valley  which  had  been  the  bed  of 
a  great  river  in  the  far-off  days  when  Ireland,  Wales  and 
Brittany  were  joined  together,  and  the  Thames  flowed 
into  the  Seine.  The  place  had  never  known  turmoil  or 
stir.     For  generations  it  had  lived  serenely. 

Three  buildings  in  the  village  stood  out  insistently, 
more  by  the  authority  of  their  appearance  and  posi- 
tion than  by  their  size.  One  was  a  square,  red-brick 
mansion  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  surrounded  by  a 
high,  red-brick  wall  enclosing  a  garden.  Another  was  a 
big,  low,  graceful  building  with  wings.  It  had  once  been 
a  monastery.  It  was  covered  with  ivy,  which  grew  thick 
and  hungry  upon  it,  and  was  called  the  Cloistered  House. 
The  last  of  the  three  was  of  wood,  and  of  no  great  size 
—a  severely  plain  but  dignified  structure,  looking  like 
some  council-hall  of  a  past  era.  Its  heavy  oak  doors 
and  windows  with  diamond  panes,  and  its  air  of  order, 
i  Leanliness,  and  serenity,  gave  it  a  commanding  influence 
in  the  picture.  It  was  the  key  to  the  history  of  the 
village — a  Quaker  Meeting-house. 

Involuntarily  the  village  had  built  itself  in  such  a  way 
that  it  made  a  wide  avenue  from  the  common  at  one  end 
to  the  Meeting-house  on  the  gorse-grown  upland  at  the 

3 


THE    WEAVERS 

other.  With  a  demure  resistance  to  the  will  of  its 
makers  the  village  had  made  itself  decorative.  The  peo- 
ple were  unconscious  of  any  attractiveness  in  them- 
selves or  in  their  village.  There  were,  however,  a  few 
who  felt  the  beauty  stirring  round  them.  These  few,  for 
their  knowledge  and  for  the  pleasure  which  it  brought, 
paid  the  accustomed  price.  The  records  of  their  lives 
were  the  only  notable  history  of  the  place  since  the  days 
when  their  forefathers  suffered  for  the  faith 

One  of  these  was  a  girl — for  she  was  still  but  a  child 
when  she  died;  and  she  had  lived  in  the  Red  Mansion 
with  the  tall  porch,  the  wide  garden  behind,  and  the 
wall  of  apricots  and  peaches  and  clustering  grapes.  Her 
story  was  not  to  cease  when  she  was  laid  away  in  the 
stiff  graveyard  behind  the  Meeting-house.  It  was  to  go 
on  in  the  life  of  her  son,  whom  to  bring  into  the  world 
she  had  suffered  undeserved,  and  loved  with  a  passion 
more  in  keeping  with  the  beauty  of  the  vale  in  which 
she  lived  than  with  the  piety  found  on  the  high-backed 
seats  in  the  Quaker  Meeting-house.  The  name  given 
her  upon  the  register  of  death  was  Mercy  Claridge,  and 
a  line  beneath  said  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Luke 
Claridge,  that  her  age  at  passing  was  nineteen  years, 
and  that  "her  soul  was  with  the  Lord." 

Another  whose  life  had  given  pages  to  the  village  his- 
tory was  one  of  noble  birth,  the  Earl  of  Eglington.  He 
had  died  twenty  years  after  the  time  when  Luke  Claridge, 
against  the  custom  of  the  Quakers,  set  up  a  tombstone  to 
Mercy  Claridge's  memory  behind  the  Meeting-house. 
Only  thrice  in  those  twenty  years  had  he  slept  in  a  room 
of  the  Cloistered  House.  One  of  those  occasions  was  the 
day  on  which  Luke  Claridge  put  up  the  gray  stone  in 
the  graveyard,  three  years  after  his  daughter's  death. 
On  the  night  of  that  day  these  two  men  met  face  to  face 
in  the  garden  of  the  Cloistered  House.  It  was  said  by  a 
passer-by,  who  had  involuntarily  overheard,  that  Luke 

4. 


THE    WEAVERS 

Claridge  had  used  harsh  and  profane  words  to  Lord 
Eglington,  though  he  had  no  inkling  of  the  subject  of  the 
bitter  talk.  He  supposed,  however,  that  Luke  had 
gone  to  reprove  the  other  for  a  wasteful  and  wandering 
existence ;  for  desertion  of  that  Quaker  religion  to  which 
his  grandfather,  the  third  Earl  of  Eglington,  had  turned 
in  the  second  half  of  his  life,  never  visiting  his  estates  in 
Ireland,  and  residing  here  among  his  new  friends  to  his 
last  day.  This  listener — John  Fairley  was  his  name — 
kept   his  own  counsel. 

On  two  other  occasions  had  Lord  Eglington  visited  the 
Cloistered  House  in  the  years  that  passed,  and  remained 
many  months.  Once  he  brought  his  wife  and  child. 
The  former  was  a  cold,  blue-eyed  Saxon  of  an  old  fam- 
ily, who  smiled  distantly  upon  the  Quaker  village;  the 
latter,  a  round-headed,  warm-faced  youth,  with  a  bold 
menacing  eye,  who  probed  into  this  and  that,  rushed 
here  and  there  as  did  his  father,  now  built  a  miniature 
mill,  now  experimented  at  some  peril  in  the  laboratory 
which  had  been  arranged  in  the  Cloistered  House  for  his 
scientific  experiments;  now  shot  partridges  in  the  fields 
where  partridges  had  not  been  shot  for  years;  and  was 
as  little  in  the  picture  as  his  adventurous  father,  though 
he  wore  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  smiling  the  while  at  the 
pain  it  gave  to  the  simple  folk  around  him. 

And  yet  once  more  the  owner  of  the  Cloistered  House 
returned  alone.  The  blue-eyed  lady  was  gone  to  her 
grave;  the  youth  was  abroad.  This  time  he  came  to  die. 
He  was  found  lying  on  the  floor  of  his  laboratory  with  a 
broken  retort  in  fragments  beside  him.  With  his  servant, 
Luke  Claridge  was  the  first  to  look  upon  him  lying  in  the 
wreck  of  his  last  experiment,  a  spirit-lamp  still  burning 
above  him,  in  the  gray  light  of  a  winter's  morning. 
Luke  Claridge  closed  the  eyes,  straightened  the  body, 
and  crossed  the  hands  over  the  breast  which  had  been 
the  laboratory  of  many  conflicting  passions  of  life. 

5 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  dead  man  had  left  instructions  that  his  body 
should  be  buried  in  the  Quaker  graveyard,  but  Luke 
Claridge  and  the  Elders  prevented  that — he  had  no  right 
to  the  privileges  of  a  Friend ;  and,  as  the  only  son  was  afar, 
and  no  near  relatives  pressed  the  late  Earl's  wishes,  the 
ancient  family  tomb  in  Ireland  received  ell  that  was  left 
of  the  owner  of  the  Cloistered  House,  which,  with  the 
estates  in  Ireland  and  the  title,  passed  to  the  wandering 
son. 


II 

THE    GATES    OF    THE    WORLD 

Stillness  in  the  Meeting-house,  save  for  the  light 
swish  of  one  graveyard-tree  against  the  window-pane, 
and  the  slow  breathing  of  the  Quaker  folk  who  filled 
every  corner.  On  the  long  bench  at  the  upper  end.  of  the 
room  the  Elders  sat  motionless,  their  hands  on  their 
knees,  wearing  their  hats;  the  women  in  their  poke- 
bonnets  kept  their  gaze  upon  their  laps.  The  heads  of 
all  save  three  were  averted,  and  they  were  Luke  Claridge, 
his  only  living  daughter,  called  Faith,  and  his  dead 
daughter's  son  David,  who  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
window  where  the  twig  flicked  against  the  pane.  The  eyes 
of  Faith,  who  sat  on  a  bench  at  one  side,  travelled  from 
David  to  her  father  constantly;  and  if,  once  or  twice,  the 
plain  rebuke  of  Luke  Claridge's  look  compelled  her  eyes 
upon  her  folded  hands,  still  she  was  watchful  and  wait- 
ing, and  seemed  demurely  to  defy  the  convention  of  un- 
blinking silence.  As  time  went  on,  others  of  her  sex 
stole  glances  at  Mercy's  son  from  the  depths  of  their 
bonnets;  and  at  last,  after  over  an  hour,  they  and  all 
were  drawn  to  look  steadily  at  the  young  man  upon  whose 
business  this  Meeting  of  Discipline  had  been  called.  The 
air  grew  warmer  and  warmer,  but  no  one  became  rest- 
less; all  seemed  as  cool  of  face  and  body  as  the  gray 
gowns  and  coats  with  gray  steel  buttons  which  they 
wore. 

At,  last  a  shrill  voice  broke  the  stillness.     Raising  his 

7 


THE    WEAVERS 

head,  one  of  the  Elders  said,  "Thee  will  stand  up, 
friend."     He  looked  at  David. 

With  a  slight  gesture  of  relief  the  young  man  stood  up. 
He  was  good  to  look  at — -clean-shaven,  broad  of  brow, 
fine  of  figure,  composed  of  carriage,  though  it  was  not 
the  composure  of  the  people  by  whom  he  was  surround- 
ed. They  were  dignified,  he  was  graceful;  they  were 
consistently  slow  of  movement,  but  at  times  his  quick 
gestures  showed  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  train  his 
spirit  to  that  passiveness  by  which  he  lived  surrounded. 
Their  eyes  were  slow  and  quiet,  more  meditative  than 
observant;  his  were  changeful  in  expression,  now  ab- 
stracted, now  dark  and  shining  as  though  some  inner 
fire  was  burning.  The  head,  too,  had  a  habit  of  coming 
up  quickly  with  an  almost  wilful  gesture,  and  with  an 
air  which,  in  others,  might  have  been  called  pride. 

"What  is  thy  name?"  said  another  owl-like  Elder  to 
him. 

A  gentle,  half -amused  smile  flickered  at  the  young 
man's  lips  for  an  instant,  then,  "David  Claridge — still," 
he  answered. 

His  last  word  stirred  the  meeting.  A  sort  of  ruffle 
went  through  the  atmosphere,  and  now  every  eye  was 
fixed  and  inquiring.  The  word  was  ominous.  He  was 
there  on  his  trial,  and  for  discipline;  and  it  was  thought 
by  all  that,  as  many  days  had  passed  since  his  offence 
was  committed,  meditation  and  prayer  should  have  done 
their  work.  Now,  however,  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  as  it 
clothed  the  last  word,  there  was  something  of  defiance. 
On  the  ear  of  his  grandfather,  Luke  Claridge,  it  fell 
heavily.  The  old  man's  lips  cosed  tightly;  he  clasped 
his  hands  between  his  knees  with  apparent  self-repres- 
sion. 

The  second  Elder  Avho  had  spoken  was  he  who  had 
once  heard  Luke  Claridge  use  profane  words  in  the 
Cloistered    House.      Feeling   trouble    ahead,   and   liking 

8 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  young  man  and  his  brother  Elder,  Luke  Claridge, 
John  Fairley  sought  now  to  take  the  case  into  his  own 
hands. 

"Thee  shall  never  find  a  better  name,  David,"  he  said, 
"if  thee  live  a  hundred  years.  It  hath  served  well  in 
England.  This  thee  didst  do.  While  the  young  Earl  of 
Eglington  was  being  brought  home,  with  noise  and  brawl- 
ing after  his  return  to  Parliament,  thee  mingled  among 
the  brawlers;  and  because  some  evil  words  were  said  of 
thy  hat  and  thy  apparel,  thee  laid  about  thee,  bringing 
one  to  the  dust,  so  that  his  life  was  in  peril  for  some 
hours  to  come.     Jasper  Kimber  was  his  name." 

"Were  it  not  that  the  smitten  man  forgave  thee,  thee 
would  now  be  in  a  prison  cell,"  shrilly  piped  the  Elder 
who  had  asked  his  name. 

"The  fight  was  fair,"  was  the  young  man's  reply. 
"Though  I  am  a  Friend,  the  man  was  English." 

"Thee  was  that  day  a  son  of  Belial,"  rejoined  the 
shrill  Elder.  "Thee  did  use  thy  hands  like  any  heathen 
sailor — is  it  not  the  truth?" 

"I  struck  the  man.     I  punished  him — why  enlarge?" 

"Thee  is  guilty?" 

"I  did  the  thing." 

"That  is  one  charge  against  thee.  There  are  others. 
Thee  was  seen  to  drink  of  spirits  in  a  public  -  house  at 
Heddington  that  day.  Twice — thrice,  like  any  drunken 
collier." 

"Twice,"  was  the  prompt  correction. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  in  which  sonic  women 
sighed,  and  others  folded  and  unfolded  their  hands  on 
their  laps;  the  men  frowned. 

"Thee  has  been  a  dark  deceiver,"  said  the  shrill  Elder 
again,  and  with  a  ring  of  acrid  triumph;  "thee  has  hid 
e  things  from  our  eyes  many  years,  but  in  one  day 
thee  has  uncovered  all.     Thee — " 

"Thee  is  charged,"  interposed  Elder  Fairley,  "with 

9 


THE    WEAVERS 

visiting  a  play  this  same  day,  and  with  seeing  a  dance  of 
Spain  following  upon  it." 

"I  did  not  disdain  the  music,"  said  the  young  man  dry- 
ly; "the  flute,  of  all  instruments,  has  a  mellow  sound." 
Suddenly  his  eyes  darkened,  he  became  abstracted,  and 
gazed  at  the  window  where  the  twig  flicked  softly  against 
the  pane,  and  the  heat  of  summer  palpitated  in  the  air. 
"It  has  good  grace  to  my  ear,"  he  added  slowly. 

Luke  Claridge  looked  at  him  intently.  He  began  to 
realize  that  there  were  forces  stirring  in  his  grandson 
which  had  no  beginning  in  Claridge  blood,  and  were  not 
nurtured  in  the  garden  with  the  fruited  wall.  He  was 
not  used  to  problems;  he  had  only  a  code,  which  he  had 
rigidly  kept.  He  had  now  a  glimmer  of  something  be- 
yond code  or  creed. 

He  saw  that  the  shrill  Elder  was  going  to  speak.  He 
intervened.  "Thee  is  charged,  David,"  he  said  coldly, 
"with  kissing  a  woman — a  stranger  and  a  wanton — where 
the  four  roads  meet  'twixt  here  and  yonder  town."  He 
motioned  towards  the  hills. 

"In  the  open  day,"  added  the  shrill  Elder,  a  red  spot 
burning  on  each  withered  cheek. 

"The  woman  was  comely,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
a  tone  of  irony,  recovering  an  impassive  look. 

A  strange  silence  fell,  the  women  looked  down;  yet 
they  seemed  not  so  confounded  as  the  men.  After  a 
moment  they  watched  the  young  man  with  quicker 
flashes  of  the  eye. 

"The  answer  is  shameless,"  said  the  shrill  Elder. 
"Thy  life  has  been  that  of  a  carnal  hypocrite." 

The  young  man  said  nothing.  His  face  had  become 
very  pale,  his  lips  were  set,  and  presently  he  sat  down 
and  folded  his  arms. 

"Thee  is  guilty  of  all?"  asked  John  Fairley. 

His  kindly  eye  was  troubled,  for  he  had  spent  number- 
less hours  in  this  young  man's  company,  and  together 

10 


THE    WEAVERS 

they  had  read  books  of  travel  and  history,  and  even  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare  and  Marlowe,  though  drama  was 
anathema  to  the  Society  of  Friends — they  did  not  realize 
it  in  the  life  around  them.  That  which  was  drama  was 
either  the  visitation  of  God  or  the  dark  deeds  of  man, 
from  which  they  must  avert  their  eyes.  Their  own 
tragedies  they  hid  beneath  their  gray  coats  and  bodices; 
their  dirty  linen  they  never  washed  in  public,  save  in 
the  scandal  such  as  this  where  the  Society  must  inter- 
vene. Then  the  linen  was  not  only  washed,  but  duly 
starched,  sprinkled,  and  ironed. 

"I  have  answered  all.  Judge  by  my  words,"  said  Da- 
vid gravely. 

"Has  repentance  come  to  thee?  Is  it  thy  will  to 
suffer  that  which  we  may  decide  for  thy  correction?" 
It  was  Elder  Fairley  who  spoke.  He  was  determined  to 
control  the  meeting  and  to  influence  its  judgment.  He 
loved  the  young  man. 

David  made  no  reply;   he  seemed  lost  in  thought. 

"Let  the  discipline  proceed — he  hath  an  evil  spirit," 
said  the  shrill  Elder. 

"His  childhood  lacked  in  much,"  said  Elder  Fairley 
patiently. 

To  most  minds  present  the  words  carried  home — to 
every  woman  who  had  a  child,  to  every  man  who  had 
lost  a  wife  and  had  a  motherless  son.  This  much  they 
knew  of  David's  real  history,  that  Mercy  Claridge,  his 
mother,  on  a  visit  to  the  house  of  an  uncle  at  Ports- 
mouth, her  mother's  brother,  had  eloped  with  and  was 
duly  married  to  the  captain  of  a  merchant  ship.  They 
also  knew  that,  after  some  months,  Luke  Claridge  had 
brought  her  home;  and  that  before  her  child  was  born 
news  came  that  the  ship  her  husband  sailed  had  gone 
down  with  all  on  board.  They  knew  likewise  that  she 
had  died  soon  after  David  came,  and  that  her  father, 
Luke    Claridge,   buried   her   in   her  maiden   name,    and 

ii 


THE    WEAVERS 

brought  the  boy  up  as  his  son,  not  with  his  father's 
name,  but  bearing  that  name  so  long  honored  in  Eng- 
land, and  even  in  the  far  places  of  the  earth — for  had 
not  Benn  Claridge,  Luke's  brother,  been  a  great  carpet- 
merchant,  traveller,  and  explorer  in  Asia  Minor,  Egypt, 
and  the  Soudan — Benn  Claridge  of  the  whimsical  speech, 
the  pious  life  ?  All  this  they  knew;  but  none  of  them,  to 
his  or  her  knowledge,  had  ever  seen  David's  father.  He 
was  legendary ;  though  there  was  full  proof  that  the  girl 
had  been  duly  married.  That  had  been  laid  before  the 
Elders  by  Luke  Claridge  on  an  occasion  when  Benn  Clar- 
idge, his  brother,  was  come  among  them  again  from  the 
East. 

At  this  moment  of  trial  David  was  thinking  of  his 
uncle,  Benn  Claridge,  and  of  his  last  words  fifteen  years 
before  when  going  once  again  to  the  East,  accompanied 
by  the  Muslim  chief  Ebn  Ezra,  who  had  come  with  him 
to  England  on  the  business  of  his  country.  These  were 
Benn  Claridge's  words:  "Love  God  before  all,  love  thy 
fellow-man,  and  thy  conscience  will  bring  thee  safe  home, 
lad." 

"  If  he  will  not  repent,  there  is  but  one  way,"  said  the 
shrill  Elder. 

"Let  there  be  no  haste,"  said  Luke  Claridge,  in  a  voice 
that  shook  a  little  in  his  struggle  for  self-control. 

Another  heretofore  silent  Elder,  sitting  beside  John 
Fairley,  exchanged  words  in  a  whisper  with  him,  and 
then  addressed  them.  He  was  a  very  small  man  with  a 
very  high  stock  and  spreading  collar,  a  thin  face  and 
large,  wide  eyes.  He  kept  his  chin  down  in  his  collar, 
but  spoke  at  the  ceiling  like  one  blind,  though  his  eyes 
were  sharp  enough  on  occasion.    His  name  was  Meacham. 

"It  is  meet  there  shall  be  time  for  sorrow  and  repent- 
ance," he  said.  "  This,  I  pray  you  all,  be  our  will:  that 
for  three  months  David  live  apart,  even  in  the  hut  where 
lived  the  drunken  chairmaker  ere  he  disappeared  and 

12 


THE    WEAVERS 

died,  as  rumor  saith — it  hath  no  tenant.  Let  it  be  that 
after  to-morrow  night  at  sunset  none  shall  speak  to  him 
till  that  time  be  come,  the  first  day  of  winter.  Till  that 
day  he  shall  speak  to  no  man,  and  shall  be  despised  of 
the  world,  and — pray  God — -of  himself.  Upon  the  first 
day  of  winter  let  it  be  that  he  come  hither  again  and 
speak  with  us." 

On  the  long  stillness  of  assent  that  followed  there 
came  a  voice  across  the  room,  from  within  a  gray  and 
white  bonnet,  which  shadowed  a  delicate  face  shining 
with  the  flame  of  the  spirit  within.  It  was  the  face  of 
Faith  Claridge,  the  sister  of  the  woman  in  the  grave- 
yard, whose  soul  was  "with  the  Lord,"  though  she  was 
but  one  year  older  and  looked  much  younger  than  her 
nephew,  David. 

"Speak,  David,"  she  said  softly.  "Speak  now. 
Doth  not  the  spirit  move  thee?" 

She  gave  him  his  cue,  for  he  had  of  purpose  held  his 
peace  till  all  had  been  said;  and  he  had  come  to  say 
some  things  which  had  been  churning  in  his  mind  too 
long.  He  caught  the  faint,  cool  sarcasm  in  her  tone, 
and  smiled  unconsciously  at  her  last  words.  She,  at 
least,  must  have  reasons  for  her  faith  in  him,  must  have 
grounds  for  his  defence  in  painful  days  to  come;  for 
painful  they  must  be,  whether  he  stayed  to  do  their  will, 
or  went  into  the  fighting  world  where  Quakers  were  few 
and  life  composite  of  things  they  never  knew  in  Hamley. 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his 
back.     After  an  instant  he  broke  silence. 

"All  those  things  of  which  I  am  accused,  I  did;  and 
for  them  is  asked  repentance.  Before  that  day  on 
which  I  did  these  things  was  there  complaint,  or  cause 
for  it  ?  Was  my  life  evil  ?  Did  I  think  in  secret  that 
which  might  not  be  done  openly?  Well,  some  things  I 
did  secretly.  Ye  shall  hear  of  them.  I  read  where  I 
might,  and  after  my  taste,  many  plays,  and  found  in 

13 


THE    WEAVERS 

them  beauty  and  the  soul  of  deep  things.  Tales  I  have 
read,  but  a  few,  and  John  Milton,  and  Chaucer,  and 
Bacon,  and  Montaigne,  and  Arab  poets  also,  whose  books 
my  uncle  sent  me.     Was  this  sin  in  me  ?" 

"It  drove  to  a  day  of  shame  for  thee,"  said  the  shrill 
Elder. 

He  took  no  heed,  but  continued.  "When  I  was  a 
child  I  listened  to  the  lark  as  it  rose  from  the  meadow; 
and  I  hid  myself  in  the  hedge  that,  unseen,  I  might  hear 
it  sing;  and  at  night  I  waited  till  I  could  hear  the  night- 
ingale. I  have  heard  the  river  singing,  and  the  music  of 
the  trees.  At  first  I  thought  that  this  must  be  sin,  since 
ye  condemn  the  human  voice  that  sings,  but  I  could  feel 
no  guilt.  I  heard  men  and  women  sing  upon  the  village 
green,  and  I  sang  also.  I  heard  bands  of  music.  One 
instrument  seemed  to  me  more  than  all  the  rest.  I 
bought  one  like  it,  and  learned  to  play.  It  was  the  flute 
— its  note  so  soft  and  pleasant.  I  learned  to  play  it — 
years  ago — in  the  woods  of  Beedon  beyond  the  hill,  and 
I  have  felt  no  guilt  from  then  till  now.  For  these  things 
I  have  no  repentance." 

"Thee  has  had  good  practice  in  deceit,"  said  the  shrill 
Elder. 

Suddenly  David's  manner  changed.  His  voice  became 
deeper;  his  eyes  took  on  that  look  of  brilliance  and  heat 
which  had  given  Luke  Claridge  anxious  thoughts. 

"I  did,  indeed,  as  the  spirit  moved  me,  even  as  ye 
have  done." 

"Blasphemer,  did  the  spirit  move  thee  to  brawl  and 
fight,  to  drink  and  curse,  to  kiss  a  wanton  in  the  open 
road  ?  What  hath  come  upon  thee  ?"  Again  it  was  the 
voice  of  the  shrill  Elder. 

"Judge  me  by  the  truth  I  speak,"  he  answered. 
"Save  in  these  things  my  life  has  been  an  unclasped 
book  for  all  to  read." 

"Speak  to  the  charge  of  brawling  and  drink,  David," 


THE    WEAVERS 

rejoined  the  little  Elder  Meacham  with  the  high  collar 
and  gaze  upon  the  ceiling. 

' '  Shall  I  not  speak  when  I  am  moved  ?  Ye  have  struck 
swiftly ;  I  will  draw  the  arrow  slowly  from  the  wound. 
But,  in  truth,  ye  had  good  right  to  wound.  Naught  but 
kindness  have  I  had  among  you  all;  and  I  will  answer. 
Straightly  have  I  lived  since  my  birth.  Yet  betimes  a 
torturing  unrest  of  mind  was  used  to  come  upon  me  as  I 
watched  the  world  around  us.  I  saw  men  generous  to 
their  kind,  industrious  and  brave,  beloved  by  their  fel- 
lows; and  I  have  seen  these  same  men  drink  and  dance 
and  give  themselves  to  coarse,  rough  play  like  young 
dogs  in  a  kennel.  Yet,  too,  I  have  seen  dark  things  done 
in  drink — the  cheerful  made  morose,  the  gentle  violent. 
What  was  the  temptation?  What  the  secret?  Was  it 
but  the  low  craving  of  the  flesh,  or  was  it  some  primitive 
unrest,  or  craving  of  the  soul,  which,  clouded  and  baffled 
by  time  and  labor  and  the  wear  of  life,  by  this  means 
was  given  the  witched  medicament — a  false  freedom,  a 
thrilling  forgetf ulness ?  In  ancient  days  the  high,  the 
humane,  in  search  of  cure  for  poison,  poisoned  them- 
selves, and  then  applied  the  antidote.  He  hath  little 
knowledge  and  less  pity  for  sin  who  has  never  sinned. 
The  day  came  when  all  these  things  which  other  men 
did  in  my  sight  I  did — openly.  I  drank  with  them  in 
the  taverns — twice  I  drank.  I  met  a  lass  in  the  way. 
I  kissed  her.  I  sat  beside  her  at  the  roadside  and  she 
told  me  her  brief,  sad,  evil  story.  One  she  had  loved 
had  left  her.  She  was  going  to  London.  I  gave  her 
what  money  I  had — " 

"And  thy  watch,"  said  a  whispering  voice  from  the 
Klders'  bench. 

"  Even  so.  And  at  the  cross-roads  I  bade  her  good-by 
with  sorrow." 

"There   were   those  who  saw,"  said    the   shrill   voice 
from  the  bench. 

*5 


THE    WEAVERS 

"They  saw  what  I  have  said — no  more.  I  had  never 
tasted  spirits  in  my  life.  I  had  never  kissed  a  woman's 
lips.  Till  then  I  had  never  struck  my  fellow-man;  but 
before  the  sun  went  down  I  fought  the  man  who  drove 
the  lass  in  sorrow  into  the  homeless  world.  I  did  not 
choose  to  fight;  but  when  I  begged  the  man  Jasper 
Kimber  for  the  girl's  sake  to  follow  and  bring  her  back, 
and  he  railed  at  me  and  made  to  fight  me,  I  took  off  my 
hat,  and  there  I  laid  him  in  the  dust." 

"No  thanks  to  thee  that  he  did  not  lie  in  his  grave," 
observed  the  shrill  Elder. 

"In  truth  I  hit  hard,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"How  came  thee  expert  with  thy  fists?"  said  Elder 
Fairley,  with  the  shadow  of  a  smile. 

"A  book  I  bought  from  London,  a  sack  of  corn,  a 
hollow  leather  ball,  and  an  hour  betimes  with  the 
drunken  chairmaker  in  the  hut  by  the  lime-kiln  on  the 
hill.     He  was  once  a  sailor,  and  a  fighting  man." 

A  look  of  blank  surprise  ran  slowly  along  the  faces  of 
the  Elders.  They  were  in  a  fog  of  misunderstanding 
and  reprobation. 

"While  yet  my  father" — he  looked  at  Luke  Claridge, 
whom  he  had  ever  been  taught  to  call  his  father — "shared 
the  great  business  at  Heddington,  and  the  ships  came 
from  Smyrna  and  Alexandria,  I  had  some  small  duties, 
as  is  well  known.  But  that  ceased,  and  there  was  little 
to  do.  Sports  are  forbidden  among  us  here,  and  my 
body  grew  sick  because  the  mind  had  no  labor.  The 
world  of  work  has  thickened  round  us  beyond  the  hills. 
The  great  chimneys  rise  in  a  circle  as  far  as  eye  can  see 
on  yonder  crests;  but  we  slumber  and  sleep." 

"Enough,  enough,"  said  a  voice  from  among  the 
women.  "Thee  has  a  friend  gone  to  London — thee 
knows  the  way.     It  leads  from  the  cross-roads!" 

Faith  Claridge,  who  had  listened  to  David's  speech, 
her  heart  panting,   her  clear  gray  eyes — she  had  her 

16 


THE    WEAVERS 

mother's  eyes — fixed  benignly  on  him,  turned  to  the 
quarter  whence  the  voice  came.  Seeing  who  it  was — a 
widow  who,  with  no  demureness,  had  tried  without  avail 
to  bring  Luke  Claridge  to  her — her  lips  pressed  together 
in  a  bitter  smile,  and  she  said  to  her  nephew  clearly, — 

"Patience  Spielman  hath  little  hope  of  thee,  David. 
Hope  hath  died  in  her." 

A  faint,  prim  smile  passed  across  the  faces  of  all  pres- 
ent, for  all  knew  Faith's  allusion,  and  it  relieved  the 
tension  of  the  past  half-hour.  From  the  first  moment 
David  began  to  speak  he  had  commanded  his  hearers. 
His  voice  was  low  and  even;  but  it  had  also  a  power 
which,  when  put  to  sudden  quiet  use,  compelled  the 
hearer  to  an  almost  breathless  silence,  not  so  much  to 
the  meaning  of  the  words,  but  to  the  tone  itself,  to  the 
man  behind  it.  His  personal  force  was  remarkable. 
Quiet  and  pale  ordinarily,  his  clear  russet-brown  hair 
falling  in  a  wave  over  his  forehead,  when  roused,  he 
seemed  like  some  delicate  engine  made  to  do  great 
labors.  As  Faith  said  to  him  once,  "David,  thee  looks 
as  though  thee  could  lift  great  weights  lightly."  When 
roused,  his  eyes  lighted  like  a  lamp,  the  whole  man 
seemed  to  pulsate.  He  had  shocked,  awed,  and  troubled 
his  listeners.  Yet  he  had  held  them  in  his  power,  and 
was  master  of  their  minds.  The  interjections  had  but 
given  him  new  means  to  defend  himself.  After  Faith 
had  spoken  he  looked  slowly  round. 

"I  am  charged  with  being  profane,"  he  said.  "I  do 
not  remember.  But  is  there  none  among  you  who  has 
not  secretly  used  profane  words  and,  neither  in  secret  nor 
openly,  has  repented?  I  am  charged  with  drinking. 
On  one  day  of  my  life  I  drank  openly.  I  did  it  because 
something  in  me  kept  crying  out,  'Taste  and  see!'  I 
tasted  and  saw,  and  know;  and  I  know  that  oblivion, 
that  1>ritf  pitiful  respite  from  trouble,  which  this  evil 
tincture  gives,     I  drank  to  know;    and  I  found  it  lure 

i7 


THE    WEAVERS 

me  into  a  new  careless  joy.  The  sun  seemed  bright- 
er, men's  faces  seemed  happier,  the  world  sang  about 
me,  the  blood  ran  swiftly,  thoughts  swarmed  in  my  brain. 
My  feet  were  on  the  mountains,  my  hands  were  on  the 
sails  of  great  ships — I  was  a  conqueror.  I  understood 
the  drunkard  in  the  first  withdrawal  begotten  of  this  false 
stimulant.  I  drank  to  know.  Is  there  none  among  you 
who  has,  though  it  be  but  once,  drunk  secretly  as  I  drank 
openly?     If  there  be  none,  then  I  am  condemned." 

"Amen,"  said  Elder  Fairley's  voice  from  the  bench. 

"In  the  open  way  by  the  cross-roads  I  saw  a  woman. 
I  saw  she  was  in  sorrow.  I  spoke  to  her.  Tears  came 
to  her  eyes.  I  took  her  hand,  and  we  sat  down  to- 
gether. Of  the  rest  I  have  told  you.  I  kissed  her — a 
stranger.  She  was  comely.  And  this  I  know,  that  the 
matter  ended  by  the  cross-roads,  and  that  by  and  for- 
bidden paths  have  easy  travel.  I  kissed  the  woman 
openly — is  there  none  among  you  who  has  kissed  secret- 
ly, and  has  kept  the  matter  hidden  ?  For  him  I  struck 
and  injured,  it  was  fair.  Shall  a  man  be  beaten  like  a 
dog?     Kimber  would  have  beaten  me." 

"Wherein  has  it  all  profited?"  asked  the  shrill  Elder 
querulously. 

"I  have  knowledge.  None  shall  do  these  things  here- 
after but  I  shall  understand.  None  shall  go  venturing, 
exploring,  but  I  shall  pray  for  him." 

"Thee  will  break  thy  heart  and  thy  life  exploring," 
said  Luke  Claridge  bitterly.  Experiment  in  life  he  did 
not  understand,  and  even  Benn  Claridge's  emigration  to 
far  lands  had  ever  seemed  to  him  a  monstrous  and  amaz- 
ing thing,  though  it  ended  in  the  making  of  a  great 
business  in  which  he  himself  had  prospered,  and  from 
which  he  had  now  retired.  He  suddenly  realized  that  a 
day  of  trouble  was  at  hand  with  this  youth  on  whom  his 
heart  doted,  and  it  tortured  him  that  he  could  not  un- 
derstand. 

18 


THE    WEAVERS 

"By  none  of  these  things  shall  I  break  my  life,"  was 
David's  answer  now. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  still  and  silent,  then  all  at  once 
he  stretched  out  his  hands  to  them.  "All  these  things 
I  did  were  against  our  faith.  I  desire  forgiveness.  I 
did  them  out  of  my  own  will ;  I  will  take  up  your  judg- 
ment. If  there  be  no  more  to  say,  I  will  make  ready 
to  go  to  old  Soolsby's  hut  on  the  hill  till  the  set  time  be 
passed." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Even  the  shrill  Elder's 
head  was  buried  in  his  breast.  They  were  little  likely  to 
forego  his  penalty.  There  was  a  gentle  inflexibility  in 
their  natures  born  of  long  restraint  and  practised  de- 
termination. He  must  go  out  into  blank  silence  and 
banishment  until  the  first  day  of  winter.  Yet  recal- 
citrant as  they  held  him,  their  secret  hearts  were  with 
him,  for  there  was  none  of  them  but  had  had  happy 
commerce  with  him;  and  they  could  think  of  no  more 
bitter  punishment  than  to  be  cut  off  from  their  own 
society  for  three  months.  They  were  satisfied  he  was 
being  trained  back  to  happiness  and  honor. 

A  new  turn  was  given  to  events,  however.  The  little 
wizened  Elder  Meacham  said,  "The  flute,  friend — is  it 
here?" 

"I  have  it  here,"  David  answered. 

"Let  us  have  music,  then." 

"To  what  end?"  interjected  the  shrill  Elder. 

"He  hath  averred  he  can  play,"  dryly  replied  the  other. 
"Let  us  judge  whether  vanity  breeds  untruth  in  him." 

The  furtive  brightening  of  the  eyes  in  the  women  was 
represented  in  the  men  by  an  assumed  look  of  abstraction 
in  most;  in  others  by  a  bland  assumption  of  judicial  calm. 
A  few,  however,  frowned,  and  would  have  opposed  the 
suggestion,  but  that  curiosity  mastered  them.  These 
watched  with  darkening  interest  the  flute,  in  three  pieces, 
drawn  from  an  inner  pocket  and  put  together  swiftly. 

19 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  raised  the  instrument  to  his  lips,  blew  one  low 
note,  and  then  a  little  run  of  notes,  all  smooth  and  soft. 
Mellowness  and  a  sober  sweetness  were  in  the  tone.  He 
paused  a  moment  after  this,  and  seemed  questioning 
what  to  play.  And  as  he  stood,  the  flute  in  his  hands, 
his  thoughts  took  flight  to  his  Uncle  Benn,  whose  kindly, 
shrewd  face  and  sharp  brown  eyes  were  as  present  to 
him,  and  more  real,  than  those  of  Luke  Claridge,  whom 
he  saw  every  day.  Of  late  when  he  had  thought  of  his 
uncle,  however,  alternate  depression  and  lightness  of 
spirit  had  possessed  him.  Night  after  night  he  had  had 
troubled  sleep,  and  he  had  dreamed  again  and  again 
that  his  uncle  knocked  at  his  door,  or  came  and  stood 
beside  his  bed  and  spoke  to  him.  He  had  wakened  sud- 
denly and  said  "Yes"  to  a  voice  which  seemed  to  call  to 
him. 

Always  his  dreams  and  imaginings  settled  round  his 
Uncle  Benn,  until  he  had  found  himself  trying  to  speak 
to  the  little  brown  man  across  the  thousand  leagues 
of  land  and  sea.  He  had  found,  too,  in  the  past  that 
when  he  seemed  to  be  really  speaking  to  his  uncle,  when 
it  seemed  as  though  the  distance  between  them  had 
been  annihilated,  that  soon  afterwards  there  came  a 
letter  from  him.  Yet  there  had  not  been  more  than  two 
or  three  a  year.  They  had  been,  however,  like  books 
of  many  pages,  closely  written,  in  Arabic,  in  a  crabbed, 
characteristic  hand,  and  full  of  the  sorrow  and  grandeur 
and  misery  of  the  East.  How  many  books  on  the  East 
David  had  read  he  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  say; 
but  something  of  the  East  had  entered  into  him,  some- 
thing of  the  philosophy  of  Mahomet  and  Buddha,  and 
the  beauty  of  Omar  Khayyam  had  given  a  touch  of  color 
and  intellect  to  the  narrow  faith  in  which  he  had  been 
schooled.  He  had  found  himself  implying  to  a  question 
asked  of  him  in  Heddington,  as  to  how  he  knew  that  there 
was  a  God,  in  the  words  of  a  Muslim  quoted  by  his  uncle: 

20 


J 

Kg 

-4 


0F 

H^HVBmBHj 

<5>u 


RAISING     i  ill-.    FLUTE    TO    HIS    I, IPS,    IIP.    BEGAN    TO    PLAV 


THE    WEAVERS 

"As  I  know  by  the  tracks  in  the  sand  whether  a  Man  or 
Beast  has  passed  there,  so  the  heaven  with  its  stars,  the 
earth  with  its  fruits,  show  me  that  God  has  passed." 
Again,  in  reply  to  the  same  question,  the  reply  of  the 
same  Arab  sprang  to  his  lips— "Does  the  Morning  want 
a  Light  to  see  it  by  ?" 

As  he  stood  with  his  flute — his  fingers  now  and  then 
caressingly  rising  and  falling  upon  its  little  caverns,  his 
mind  travelled  far  to  those  regions  he  had  never  seen, 
where  his  uncle  traded,  and  explored.  Suddenly,  the 
call  he  had  heard  in  his  sleep  now  came  to  him  in  this 
waking  reverie.  His  eyes  withdrew  from  the  tree  at 
the  window,  as  if  startled,  and  he  almost  called  aloud  in 
reply;  but  he  realized  where  he  was.  At  last,  raising 
the  flute  to  his  lips,  as  the  eyes  of  Luke  Claridge  closed 
with  very  trouble,  he  began  to  play. 

Out  in  the  woods  of  Beedon  he  had  attuned  his  flute 
to  the  stir  of  leaves,  the  murmur  of  streams,  the  song 
of  birds,  the  boom  and  burden  of  storm;  and  it  was  soft 
and  deep  as  the  throat  of  the  bell -bird  of  Australian 
wilds.  Now  it  was  mastered  by  the  dreams  he  had 
dreamed  of  the  East,  the  desert  skies,  high  and  clear  and 
burning,  the  desert  sunsets,  plaintive  and  peaceful  and 
unvaried — one  lovely  diffusion,  in  which  day  dies  without 
splendor  and  in  a  glow  of  pain.  The  long,  velvety  tread 
of  the  camel,  the  song  of  the  camel-driver,  the  monot- 
onous chant  of  the  river-man,  with  fingers  mechanically 
falling  on  his  little  drum,  the  cry  of  the  eagle  of  the 
Libyan  Hills,  the  lap  of  the  heavy  waters  of  the  Dead 
Sea  down  by  Jericho,  the  battle-call  of  the  Druses  be- 
yond Damascus,  the  lonely  gigantic  figures  at  the  mouth 
of  the  temple  of  Alum  Simbel,  looking  out  with  the  eter- 
nal question  to  the  unanswering  desert,  the  delicate  ruins 
of  moonlit  Baalbec,  with  the  snow  mountains  hovering 
above,  the  green  oases,  and  the  deep  wells  where  the 
caravans  lay  down  in  peace — all  these  were  pouring  their 

21 


THE    WEAVERS 

influences  on  his  mind  in  the  little  Quaker  village  of 
Hamley  where  life  was  so  bare,  so  grave. 

The  music  he  played  was  all  his  own,  was  instinctive- 
ly translated  from  all  other  influences  into  that  which 
they  who  listened  to  him  could  understand.  Yet  that 
sensuous  beauty  which  the  Quaker  Society  was  so  con- 
cerned to  banish  from  any  part  in  their  life  was  playing 
upon  them  now,  making  the  hearts  of  the  women  beat 
fast,  thrilling  them,  turning  meditation  into  dreams,  and 
giving  the  sight  of  the  eyes  far  visions  of  pleasure.  So 
powerful  was  this  influence  that  the  shrill  Elder  twice 
essayed  to  speak  in  protest,  but  was  prevented  by  the 
wizened  Elder  Meacham.  When  it  seemed  as  if  the  ach- 
ing, throbbing  sweetness  must  surely  bring  denuncia- 
tion, David  changed  the  music  to  a  slow,  mourning  ca- 
dence. It  was  a  wail  of  sorrow,  a  march  to  the  grave,  a 
benediction,  a  soft  sound  of  farewell,  floating  through  the 
room  and  dying  away  into  the  midday  sun. 

There  came  a  long  silence  after,  and  in  it  David  sat 
with  unmoving  look  upon  the  distant  prospect  through 
the  window.  A  woman's  sob  broke  the  air.  Faith's 
handkerchief  was  at  her  eyes.  Only  one  quick  sob,  but 
it  had  been  wrung  from  her  by  the  premonition  suddenly 
come  that  the  brother — he  was  brother  more  than  nephew 
— over  whom  her  heart  had  yearned,  that  he  had,  indeed, 
come  to  the  cross-roads,  and  that  their  ways  would 
henceforth  divide.  The  punishment  or  banishment  now 
to  be  meted  out  to  him  was  as  nothing.  It  meant  a  few 
weeks  of  disgrace,  of  ban,  of  what,  in  effect,  was  self-immo- 
lation, of  that  commanding  justice  of  the  Society  which 
no  one  yet  save  the  late  Earl  of  Eglington  had  defied. 
David  could  refuse  to  bear  punishment,  but  such  a  pos- 
sibility had  never  occurred  to  her  or  to  any  one  present. 
She  saw  him  taking  his  punishment  as  surely  as  though 
the  law  of  the  land  had  him  in  its  grasp.  It  was  not  that 
which  she  was  fearing.     But  she  saw  him  moving  out  of 

22 


THE    WEAVERS 

her  life.  To  her  this  music  was  the  prelude  of  her 
tragedy. 

A  moment  afterwards  Luke  Claridge  arose  and  spoke 
to  David  in  austere  tones:  "It  is  our  will  that  thee 
begone  to  the  chairmaker's  hut  upon  the  hill  till  three 
months  be  passed,  and  that  none  have  speech  with  thee 
after  sunset  to-morrow  even." 

"Amen,"  said  all  the  Elders. 

"Amen,"  said  David,  and  put  his  flute  into  his  pocket, 
and  rose  to  go. 

3 


Ill 

BANISHED 

The  chairmaker's  hut  lay  ■  upon  the  north  hillside 
about  half-way  between  the  Meeting-house  at  one  end  of 
the  village  and  the  common  at  the  other  end.  It  com- 
manded the  valley,  had  no  house  near  it,  and  was  shel- 
tered from  the  north  wind  by  the  hilltop  which  rose  up 
behind  it  a  hundred  feet  or  more.  No  road  led  to  it — 
only  a  path  up  from  the  green  of  the  village,  winding  past 
a  gulley  and  the  deep  cuts  of  old  rivulets  now  overgrown 
by  grass  or  bracken.  It  got  the  sun  abundantly,  and  it 
was  protected  from  the  full  sweep  of  any  storm.  It  had 
but  two  rooms,  the  floor  was  of  sanded  earth,  but  it  had 
windows  on  three  sides,  east,  west,  and  south,  and  the 
door  looked  south.  Its  furniture  was  a  plank  bed,  a  few 
shelves,  a  bench,  two  chairs,  some  utensils,  a  fireplace  of 
stone,  a  picture  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  and  of  a  Cardinal 
of  the  Church  of  Rome  with  a  red  hat — for  the  chair- 
maker  had  been  a  Roman  Catholic,  the  only  one  of  that 
communion  in  Hamley.  Had  he  been  a  Protestant  his 
vices  would  have  made  him  anathema,  but,  being  what  he 
was,  his  fellow- villagers  had  treated  him  with  kindness. 

After  the  half-day  in  which  he  was  permitted  to  make 
due  preparations,  lay  in  store  of  provisions,  and  pur- 
chase a  few  sheep  and  hens,  hither  came  David  Claridge. 
Here,  too,  came  Faith,  who  was  permitted  one  hour  with 
him  before  he  began  his  life  of  willing  isolation.  Little 
was  said  as  they  made  the  journey  up  the  hill,  driving 

24 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  sheep  before  them,  four  strong  lads  following  with 
necessaries — flour,  rice,  potatoes,  and  such  like. 

Arrived,  the  goods  were  deposited  inside  the  hut,  the 
lads  were  dismissed,  and  David  and  Faith  were  left  alone. 
David  looked  at  his  watch.  They  had  still  a  handful  of 
minutes  before  the  parting.  These  flew  fast,  and  yet, 
seated  inside  the  door  and  looking  down  at  the  village 
which  the  sun  was  bathing  in  the  last  glow  of  evening, 
they  remained  silent.  Each  knew  that  a  great  change 
had  come  in  their  hitherto  unchanging  life,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  separate  premonition  from  substantial  fact. 
The  present  fact  did  not  represent  all  they  felt,  though  it 
represented  all  on  which  they  might  speak  together  now. 

Looking  round  the  room,  at  last  Faith  said:  "Thee  hast 
all  thee  needs,  David?     Thee  is  sure?" 

He  nodded.  "I  know  not  yet  how  little  man  may 
need.     I  have  lived  in  plenty." 

At  that  moment  her  eyes  rested  on  the  Cloistered  House. 
'The  Earl  of  Eglington  would  not  call  it  plenty." 

A  shade  passed  over  David's  face.  "I  know  not  how 
he  would  measure.     Is  his  own  field  so  wide?" 

"The  spread  of  a  peacock's  feather." 

"What  does  thee  know  of  him?"  David  asked  the 
question  absently. 

"I  have  eyes  to  see,  Davy."  The  shadows  from  that 
seeing  were  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  but  he  did  not 
observe  them. 

'Thee  sees  but  with  half  an  eye,"  she  continued. 
"With  both  mine  I  have  seen  horses  and  carriages,  and 
tall  footmen,  and  wine  and  silver,  and  gilded  furniture, 
;ind  fine  pictures,  and  rolls  of  new  carpet — of  Uncle 
Bi  tin's  best  carpets,  Davy — and  a  billiard-table,  and 
much  else." 

A  cloud  slowly  gathered  over  David's  face,  and  he 
turned  to  her  with  an  almost  troubled  surprise.  'Thee 
has  seen  these  things — and  how?" 

25 


THE    WEAVERS 

"One  day— thee  was  in  Devon — one  of  the  women 
tvas  taken  sick.  They  sent  for  me  because  the  woman 
asked  it.  She  was  a  Papist;  but  she  begged  that  I 
should  go  with  her  to  the  hospital,  as  there  was  no  time 
to  send  to  Heddington  for  a  nurse.  She  had  seen  me  once 
in  the  house  of  the  toll-gate  keeper.  Ill  as  she  was,  I 
could  have  laughed,  for,  as  we  went  in  the  Earl's  carriage 
to  the  hospital, — thirty  miles  it  was— she  said  she  felt 
at  home  with  me,  my  dress  being  so  like  a  nun's.  It  was 
then  I  saw  the  Cloistered  House  within,  and  learned 
what  was  afoot." 

"In  the  Earl's  carriage  indeed — and  the  Earl?" 

"He  was  in  Ireland,  burrowing  among  those  tarnished 
baubles,  his  titles,  and  stripping  the  Irish  Peter  to  clothe 
the  English  Paul." 

"He  means  to  make  Hamley  his  home  ?  From  Ireland 
these  furnishings  come?" 

"So  it  seems.  Henceforth  the  Cloistered  House  will 
have  its  doors  flung  wide.  London  and  all  the  folk  of 
Parliament  will  flutter  along  the  dunes  of  Hamley." 

"Then  the  bailiff  will  sit  yonder  within  a  year,  for  he 
is  but  a  starved  Irish  peer." 

"He  lives  to-day  as  though  he  would  be  rich  to- 
morrow.    He  bids  for  fame  and  fortune,  Davy." 

"'Tis  as  though  a  shirtless  man  should  wear  a  broad- 
cloth coat  over  a  cotton  vest." 

"The  world  sees  only  the  broadcloth  coat.  For  the 
rest — " 

"For  the  rest,  Faith?" 

"They  see  the  man's  face — and — " 

His  eyes  were  embarrassed.  A  thought  had  flashed 
into  his  mind  which  he  considered  unworthy,  for  this 
girl  beside  him  was  little  likely  to  dwell  upon  the  face  of 
a  renegade  peer,  whose  living  among  them  was  a  con- 
stant reminder  of  his  father's  apostasy.  She  was  too 
fine,  dwelt  in  such  high  spheres,  that  he  could  not  think 

26 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  her  being  touched  by  the  glittering  adventures  of  this 
daring  young  member  of  Parliament,  whose  book  of 
travels  had  been  published,  only  to  herald  his  understood 
determination  to  have  office  in  the  government,  not  in 
due  time,  but  in  his  own  time.  What  could  there  be  in 
common  between  the  sophisticated  Eglington  and  this 
sweet,  primitively  wholesome  Quaker  girl  ? 

Faith  read  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  She  flushed 
— slowly  flushed  until  her  face  and  eyes  were  one  soft 
glow,  then  she  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm  and  said: 
"Davy,  I  feel  the  truth  about  him — no  more.  Nothing 
of  him  is  for  thee  or  me.  His  ways  are  not  our  ways." 
She  paused,  and  then  said  solemnly,  "He  hath  a  devil. 
That  I  feel.  But  he  hath  also  a  mind,  and  a  cruel  will. 
He  will  hew  a  path,  or  make  others  hew  it  for  him. 
He  will  make  or  break.  Nothing  will  stand  in  his  way, 
neither  man  nor  thing,  those  he  loves  nor  those  he  hates. 
He  will  go  on — and  to  go  on,  all  means,  so  they  be  not 
criminal,  will  be  his.  Men  will  prophesy  great  things 
for  him — they  do  so  now.  But  nothing  they  prophesy, 
Davy,  keeps  pace  with  his  resolve." 

"How  does  thee  know  these  things?" 

His  question  was  one  of  wonder  and  surprise.  He  had 
never  before  seen  in  her  this  sharp  discernment  and 
criticism. 

"How  know  I,  Davy?  I  know  him  by  studying 
thee.  What  thee  is  not,  he  is.  What  he  is,  thee  is 
not." 

The  last  beams  of  the  sun  sent  a  sudden  glint  of  yellow 
to  the  green  at  their  feet  from  the  western  hills,  rising 
far  over  and  above  the  lower  hills  of  the  village,  making 
a  wide  ocean  of  light,  at  the  bottom  of  which  lay  the 
Meeting-house  and  the  Cloistered  House,  and  the  Red 
Mansion  with  the  fruited  wall,  ami  all  the  others,  like 
dwellings  at  the  bottom  of  a  golden  sea.  David's  eyes 
were  on  the  distance,  and  the  far-seeing  look  was  in  his 

27 


THE    WEAVERS 

face  which  had  so  deeply  impressed  Faith  in  the  Meeting- 
house; by  which  she  had  read  his  future. 

"And  shall  I  not  also  go  on?"  he  asked. 

"How  far,  who  can  tell?" 

There  was  a  plaintive  note  in  her  voice — the  unavail- 
ing and  sad  protest  of  the  maternal  spirit,  of  the  keeper 
of  the  nest,  who  sees  the  brood  fly  safely  away,  looking 
not  back. 

"What  does  thee  see  for  me  afar,  Faith?"  His  look 
was  eager. 

"The  will  of  God,  which  shall  be  done,"  she  said  with 
a  sudden  resolution,  and  stood  up.  Her  hands  were 
lightly  clasped  before  her  like  those  of  Titian's  Mater 
Dolorosa  among  the  Rubens  and  Tintorettos  of  Madrid, 
a  lonely  figure,  whose  lot  it  was  to  spend  her  life  for 
others.  Even  as  she  already  had  done;  for  thrice  she 
had  refused  marriages  suitable  and  possible  to  her.  In 
each  case  she  had  steeled  her  heart  against  loving,  that 
she  might  be  all  in  all  to  her  sister's  child  and  to  her 
father.  There  is  no  habit  so  powerful  as  the  habit  of 
care  of  others.  In  Faith  it  came  as  near  being  a  passion 
as  passion  could  have  a  place  in  her  even-flowing  blood, 
under  that  cool  flesh,  governed  by  a  heart  as  fair  as  the 
apricot  blossoms  on  the  wall  in  her  father's  garden.  She 
had  been  bitterly  hurt  in  the  Meeting-house ;  as  bitterly 
as  is  many  a  woman  when  her  lover  has  deceived  her. 
David  had  acknowledged  before  them  all  that  he  had 
olayed  the  flute  secretly  for  years!  That  he  should  have 
played  it  was  nothing;  that  she  should  not  have  shared 
his  secret,  and  so  shared  his  culpability  before  them  all, 
was  a  wound  which  would  take  long  to  heal. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  suddenly  with  a 
nervous  little   motion. 

"And  the  will  of  God  thee  shall  do  to  His  honor,  though 
thee  is  outcast  to-day.  .  .  .  But,  Davy,  the  music — thee 
kept  it  from  me." 

28 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  looked  up  at  her  steadily ;  he  read  what  was  in  her 
mind. 

"I  hid  it  so,  because  I  would  not  have  thy  conscience 
troubled.  Thee  would  go  far  to  smother  it  for  me;  and 
I  was  not  so  ungrateful  to  thee.  I  did  it  for  good  to 
thee." 

A  smile  passed  across  her  lips.  Never  was  woman  so 
grateful,  never  wound  so  quickly  healed.  She  shook  her 
head  sadly  at  him,  and  stilling  the  proud  throbbing  of 
her  heart,  she  said: 

"But  thee  played  so  well,  Davy!" 

He  got  up  and  turned  his  head  away,  lest  he  should 
laugh  outright.  Her  reasoning  —  though  he  was  not 
worldly  enough  to  call  it  feminine,  and  though  it  scarce 
tallied  with  her  argument — seemed  to  him  quite  her 
own. 

"How  long  have  we?"  he  said  over  his  shoulder. 

"The  sun  is  yet  five  minutes  up,  or  more,"  she  said, 
a  little  breathlessly,  for  she  saw  his  hand  inside  his  coat, 
and  guessed  his  purpose. 

"But  thee  will  not  dare  to  play — thee  will  not  dare," 
she  said,  but  more  as  an  invitation  than  a  rebuke. 

"Speech  was  denied  me  here,  but  not  my  music.  I 
find  no  sin  in  it." 

She  eagerly  watched  him  adjust  the  flute.  Suddenly 
she  drew  to  him  the  chair  from  the  doorway,  and  beck- 
oned him  to  sit  down.  She  sat  where  she  could  see  the 
sunset. 

The  music  floated  through  the  room  and  down  the 
hillside,  a  searching  sweetness. 

She  kept  her  face  ever  on  the  far  hills.  It  went  on 
and  on.  At  last  it  stopped.  David  roused  himself,  as 
from  a  dream.  "But  it  is  dark!"  he  said  startled.  "It 
is  past  the  time  thee  should  be  with  me.  My  banish- 
ment  l)i'<tr;m  at  sunset." 

"Are  all  the  sins  to  be  thine?"  she  asked  calmly. 

29 


THE    WEAVERS 

She  had  purposely  let  him  play  beyond  the  time  set 
for  their  being  together.  "Good-night,  Davy."  She 
kissed  him  on  the  cheek. 

"I  will  keep  the  music  for  the  sin's  remembrance,"  she 
added,  and  went  out  into  the  night. 


IV 

THE    CALL 

"  England  is  in  one  of  those  passions  so  creditable  to  her 
moral  sense,  so  illustrative  of  her  unregulated  virtues.  We 
are  living  in  the  first  excitement  and  horror  of  the  news  of 
the  massacre  of  Christians  at  Damascus.  We  are  full  of 
righteous  and  passionate  indignation.  'Punish — restore 
the  honor  of  the  Christian  nations '  is  the  proud  appeal  of 
prelate,  prig,  and  philanthropist,  because  some  hundreds 
of  Christians  who  knew  their  danger,  yet  chose  to  take  up 
their  abode  in  a  fanatical  Muslim  city  of  the  East,  have 
suffered  death" 

The  meeting  had  been  called  in  answer  to  an  appeal 
from  Exeter  Hall.  Lord  Eglington  had  been  asked  to 
speak,  and  these  were  among  his  closing  words. 

He  had  seen,  as  he  thought,  an  opportunity  for  sensa- 
tion. Politicians  of  both  sides,  the  press  on  all  hands, 
were  thundering  denunciations  upon  the  city  of  Damas- 
cus, sitting  insolent  and  satiated  in  its  exquisite  bloom 
of  pear  and  nectarine,  and  the  deed  itself  was  fading  into 
that  blank  past  of  Eastern  life  where  "there  are  no  birds 
in  last  year's  nest."  If  he  voyaged  with  the  crowd,  his 
pennant  would  be  lost  in  the  clustering  sails!  So  he 
would  move  against  the  tide,  and  would  startle,  even  if 
he  did  not  convince. 

"Let  us  not  translate  an  inflamed  religious  emotion 

into  .-i  war,"  he  continued.     "To  what  good?     Would  it 

tore  one   ingle  life  in  Damascus  ?     Would  it  bind  one 

3* 


THE    WEAVERS 

broken  heart?  Would  it  give  light  to  one  darkened 
home  ?  Let  us  have  care  lest  we  be  called  a  nation  of 
hypocrites.  I  will  neither  support  nor  oppose  the  reso- 
lution presented ;  I  will  content  myself  with  pointing  the 
way  to  a  greater  national  self-respect." 

Mechanically  a  few  people  who  had  scarcely  appre- 
hended the  full  force  of  his  remarks  began  to  applaud; 
but  there  came  cries  of  "  'Shf  'Shf"  and  the  clapping  of 
hands  suddenly  stopped.  For  a  moment  there  was  ab- 
solute silence,  in  which  the  chairman  adjusted  his  glasses 
and  fumbled  with  the  agenda  paper  in  his  confusion, 
scarcely  knowing  what  to  do.  The  speaker  had  been 
expected  to  second  the  resolution,  and  had  not  done 
so.  There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Then,  in  a  loud 
whisper,  some  one  said: 

"David,  David,  do  thee  speak." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Faith  Claridge.  Perturbed  and 
anxious,  she  had  come  to  the  meeting  with  her  father. 
They  had  not  slept  for  nights,  for  the  last  news  they 
had  had  of  Benn  Claridge  was  from  the  city  of  Damascus, 
and  they  were  full  of  painful  apprehensions. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  first  day  of  winter,  and  David's 
banishment  was  over.  Faith  had  seen  David  often  at  a 
distance — how  often  had  she  stood  in  her  window  and 
looked  up  over  the  apricot-wall  to  the  chairmaker's  hut 
on  the  hill!  According  to  his  penalty  David  had  never 
come  to  Hamley  village,  but  had  lived  alone,  speaking 
to  no  one,  avoided  by  all,  working  out  his  punishment. 
Only  the  day  before  the  meeting  he  had  read  of  the  mas- 
sacre at  Damascus  from  a  newspaper  which  had  been  left 
on  his  doorstep  overnight.  Elder  Fairley  had  so  far 
broken  the  covenant  of  ostracism  and  boycott,  knowing 
David's  love  for  his  Uncle  Benn.  All  that  night  David 
paced  the  hillside  in  anxiety  and  agitation,  and  saw  the 
sun  rise  upon  a  new  world — a  world  of  freedom,  of  home- 
returning,  yet  a  world  which  during  the  past  four  months 

32 


THE    WEAVERS 

had  changed  so  greatly  that  it  would  never  seem  the  same 
again. 

The  sun  was  scarce  two  hours  high  when  Faith  and 
her  father  mounted  the  hill  to  bring  him  home  again. 
He  had,  however,  gone  to  Heddington  to  learn  further 
news  of  the  massacre.  He  was  thinking  of  his  Uncle 
Benn — all  else  could  wait.  His  anxiety  was  infinitely 
greater  than  that  of  Luke  Claridge,  for  his  mind  had  been 
disturbed  by  frequent  premonitions;  and  those  sudden 
calls  in  his  sleep — his  uncle's  voice — ever  seemed  to  be 
waking  him  at  night.  He  had  not  meant  to  speak  at 
the  meeting,  but  the  last  words  of  the  speaker  decided 
him;  he  was  in  a  flame  of  indignation.  He  heard  the 
voice  of  Faith  whisper  over  the  heads  of  the  people, 
"David,  David,  do  thee  speak."  Turning  he  met  her 
eyes,  then  rose  to  his  feet,  came  steadily  to  the  platform, 
and  raised  a  finger  towards  the  chairman. 

A  great  whispering  ran  through  the  audience.  Very 
many  recognized  him,  and  all  had  heard  of  him — the 
history  of  his  late  banishment  and  self-approving  pun- 
ishment were  familiar  to  them.  He  climbed  the  steps  of 
the  platform  alertly,  and  the  chairman  welcomed  him 
with  nervous  pleasure.  Any  word  from  a  Quaker,  friend- 
ly to  the  feeling  of  national  indignation,  would  give  the 
meeting  the  new  direction  which  all  desired. 

Something  in  the  face  of  the  young  man  grown  thin 
and  very  pale  during  the  period  of  long  thought  and  lit- 
tle food  in  the  lonely  and  meditative  life  he  had  led; 
something  human  and  mysterious  in  the  strange  tale  of 
his  one  day's  mad  doings  fascinated  them.  They  had 
heard  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunk,  of  the  woman  he  had 
kissed  at  the  cross-roads,  of  the  man  he  had  fought,  of 
his  discipline  and  sentence.  His  clean,  shapely  figure, 
and  the  soft  austerity  of  the  neat  gray  suit  he  wore,  his 
broad-brimmed  hat  pushed  a  little  back,  showing  well 
a  square  white  forehead — all   conspired  to  send  a  wave 

33 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  feeling  through  the  audience,  which  presently  broke 
into  cheering. 

Beginning  with  the  usual  formality,  he  said:  "I  am 
obliged  to  differ  from  nearly  every  sentiment  expressed 
by  the  Earl  of  Eglington,  the  member  for  Levizes,  who 
has  just  taken  his  seat." 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  the  audience  cheered, 
and  cries  of  delight  came  from  all  parts  of  the  house. 
"All  good  counsel  has  its  sting,"  he  continued,  "but 
the  good  counsel  of  him  who  has  just  spoken  is  a 
sting  in  a  wound  deeper  than  the  skin.  The  noble  Earl 
has  bidden  us  to  be  consistent  and  reasonable.  I  have 
risen  here  to  speak  for  that  to  which  mere  consistency 
and  reason  may  do  cruel  violence.  I  am  a  man  of  peace, 
I  am  the  enemy  of  war — it  is  my  faith  and  creed ;  yet 
I  repudiate  the  principle  put  forward  by  the  Earl  of 
Eglington,  that  you  shall  not  clench  your  hand  for  the 
cause  which  is  your  heart's  cause,  because,  if  you  smite, 
the  smiting  must  be  paid  for." 

He  was  interrupted  by  cheers  and  laughter,  for  the 
late  event  in  his  own  life  came  to  them  to  point  his  argu- 
ment. 

"The  nation  that  declines  war  may  be  refusing  to  in- 
flict that  just  punishment,  which  alone  can  set  the  wrong- 
doers on  the  better  course.  It  is  not  the  faith  of  that 
society  to  which  I  belong  to  decline  correction  lest  it 
may  seem  like  war." 

The  point  went  home  significantly,  and  cheering  fol- 
lowed. "The  high  wall  of  Tibet,  a  stark  refusal  to  open 
the  door  to  the  wayfarer,  I  can  understand;  but,  friend" 
—he  turned  to  the  young  peer — "friend,  I  cannot  under- 
stand a  defence  of  him  who  opens  the  door,  upon  terms 
of  mutual  hospitality,  and  then,  in  the  red  blood  of  him 
who  has  so  contracted,  blots  out  the  just  terms  upon 
which  they  have  agreed.     Is  that  thy  faith,  friend?" 

The  repetition  of  the  word  friend  was  almost  like  a  gibe, 

34 


THE    WEAVERS 

though  it  was  not  intended  as  such.  There  was  none 
present,  however,  but  knew  of  the  defection  of  the  Earl's 
father  from  the  Society  of  Friends,  and  they  chose  to 
interpret  the  reference  to  a  direct  challenge.  It  was  a 
difficult  moment  for  the  young  Earl,  but  he  only  smiled, 
and  cherished  anger  in  his  heart. 

For  some  minutes  David  spoke  with  force  and  power, 
and  he  ended  with  passionate  solemnity.  His  voice 
rang  out:  "The  smoke  of  this  burning  rises  to  Heaven, 
the  winds  that  wail  over  scattered  and  homeless  dust 
bear  a  message  to  us.  In  the  name  of  Mahomet,  whose 
teaching  condemns  treachery  and  murder,  in  the  name 
of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  who  taught  that  justice  which 
makes  for  peace,  I  say  it  is  England's  duty  to  lay  the 
iron  hand  of  punishment  upon  this  evil  city  and  on  the 
government  in  whose  orbit  it  shines  with  so  deathly  a 
light.  I  fear  it  is  that  one  of  my  family  and  of  my 
humble  village  lies  beaten  to  death  in  Damascus.  Yet 
not  because  of  that  do  I  raise  my  voice  here  to-day. 
These  many  years  Benn  Claridge  carried  his  life  in  his 
hands,  and  in  a  good  cause  it  was  held  like  the  song 
of  a  bird,  to  be  blown  from  his  lips  in  the  day  of  the 
Lord.  I  speak  only  as  an  Englishman.  I  ask  you  to 
close  your  minds  against  the  words  of  this  brilliant  politi- 
cian, who  would  have  you  settle  a  bill  of  costs  written 
in  Christian  blood,  by  a  promise  to  pay,  got  through  a 
mockery  of  armed  display  in  those  waters  on  which  once 
L  n  iked  the  eyes  of  the  Captain-of  our  faith.  Humanity 
has  been  put  in  the  witness-box  of  the  world;  let  human- 
ity give  evidence." 

Women  wept.  Men  waved  theif  hats  and  cheered,  the 
whole  meeting  rose  to  its  feet  and  gave  vent  to  its  feelings. 

For  some  moments  the  tumult  lasted,  Eglington  look- 
ing on  with  face  unmoved.  As  David  turned  to  leave 
the  table,  however,  he  murmured,  "Peacemaker!  Peace- 
maker!" and  smiled  sarcastically. 

35 


THE    WEAVERS 

As  the  audience  resumed  their  seats  two  people  were 
observed  making  their  way  to  the  platform.  One  was 
Elder  Fairley  leading  the  way  to  a  tall  figure  in  a  black 
robe  covering  another  colored  robe,  and  wearing  a  large 
white  turban.  Not  seeing  the  newcomers,  the  chairman 
was  about  to  put  the  resolution,  but  a  protesting  hand 
from  John  Fairley  stopped  him,  and  in  a  strange  silence 
the  two  newcomers  mounted  the  platform.  David  rose 
and  advanced  to  meet  them.  There  flashed  into  his 
mind  that  this  stranger  in  Eastern  garb  was  Ebn  Ezra 
Bey,  the  old  friend  of  Benn  Claridge,  of  whom  his  uncle 
had  spoken  and  written  so  much.  The  same  instinct 
drew  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  to  him — he  saw  the  uncle's  look  in 
the  nephew's  face.  In  a  breathless  stillness  the  Oriental 
said  in  perfect  English,  with  a  voice  monotonously  mu- 
sical : 

"I  came  to  thy  house  and  found  thee  not.  I  have  a 
message  for  thee  from  the  land  where  thine  uncle  so- 
journed with  me."  „ 

He  took  from  a  wallet  a  piece  of  paper  and  passed  it 
to  David,  adding:  "I  was  thine  uncle's  friend.  He  hath 
put  off  his  sandals  and  walketh  with  bare  feet!" 

David  read  eagerly. 

"It  is  time  to  go,  Davy,"  the  paper  said.  "All  that  I 
have  is  thine.  Go  to  Egypt,  and  thee  shall  find  it  so.  Ebn 
Ezra  Bey  will  bring  thee.  Trust  him  as  I  have  done.  He 
is  a  true  man,  though  the  Koran  be  his  faith.  They  took 
me  from  behind,  Davy,  so- that  I  was  spared  temptation — / 
die  as  I  lived,  a  man  of  peace.  It  is  too  late  to  think  how 
it  might  have  gone  had  we  met  face  to  face;  but  the  will  of 
God  worketh  not  according  to  our  will.  I  can  write  no 
more.  Luke,  Faith,  and  Davy — dear  Davy,  the  night  has 
come,  and  all's  well.  Good-morrow,  Davy.  Can  you  not 
hear  me  calif  I  have  called  thee  so  often  of  late!  Good- 
morrow!  Good-morrow !  .  .  .  I  doff  my  hat,  Davy — at  last 
—to  God!" 

36 


THE    WEAVERS 

David's  face  whitened.  All  his  visions  had  been  true 
visions,  his  dreams  true  dreams.  Brave  Benn  Claridge 
had  called  to  him  at  his  door — "Good-morrow!  Good- 
morrow!  Good-morrow!"  Had  he  not  heard  the  knock- 
ing and  the  voice  ?  Now  all  was  made  clear.  His  path 
lay  open  before  him — a  far  land  called  him,  his  quiet 
past  was  infinite  leagues  away.  Already  the  staff  was 
in  his  hands  and  the  cross-roads  were  sinking  into  the 
distance  behind.  He  was  dimly  conscious  of  the  wan, 
shocked  face  of  Faith  in  the  crowd  beneath  him,  which 
seemed  blurred  and  swaying,  of  the  bowed  head  of  Luke 
Claridge,  who,  standing  up,  had  taken  off  his  hat  in  the 
presence  of  this  news  of  his  brother's  death  which  he  saw 
written  in  David's  face.  David  stood  for  a  moment  be- 
fore the  great  throng,  numb  and  speechless. 

"It  is  a  message  from  Damascus,"  he  said  at  last,  and 
could  say  no  more. 

Ebn  Ezra  Bey  turned  a  grave  face  upon  the  audience. 

"Will  you  hear  me?"  he  said.     "I  am  an  Arab." 

"Speak — speak!"  came  from  every  side. 

"The  Turk  hath  done  his  evil  work  in  Damascus,"  he 
said.  "All  the  Christians  are  dead — save  one;  he  hath 
turned  Muslim — and  is  safe."  His  voice  had  a  note  of 
scorn.  "It  fell  sudden  and  swift  like  a  storm  in  sum- 
mer. There  were  no  paths  to  safety.  Soldiers  and 
those  who  led  them  shared  in  the  slaying.  As  he  and 
I  who  had  travelled  far  together  these  many  years  so- 
journed there  in  the  way  of  business,  I  felt  the  air  grow 
colder,  I  saw  the  cloud  gathering.  I  entreated,  but  he 
would  not  go.  If  trouble  must  come,  then  he  would  be 
with  the  Christians  in  their  peril.  At  last  he  saw  with 
me  the  truth.  He  had  a  plan  of  escape.  There  was  a 
Christian  weaver  with  his  wife  in  a  far  quarter — against 
my  entreaty  he  went  to  warn  them.  The  storm  broke. 
He  was  the  first  to  fall,  smitten  in  'that  street  called 
Straight.'     I  found  him  soon  after.     Thus  did  he  speak 

37 


THE    WEAVERS 

to  me — even  in  these  words:  'The  blood  of  women  and 
children  shed  here  to-day  shall  cry  from  the  ground. 
Unprovoked,  the  host  has  turned  wickedly  upon  his 
guest.  The  storm  has  been  sown,  and  the  whirlwind 
must  be  reaped.  Out  of  this  evd  good  shall  come. 
Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?'  These 
were  his  last  words  to  me  then.  As  his  life  ebbed  out, 
he  wrote  a  letter  which  I  have  brought  hither  to  one" 
he  turned  to  David — -"whom  he  loved.  At  the  last  he 
took  off  his  hat,  and  lay  with  it  in  his  hands,  and  died. 
...  I  am  a  Muslim,  but  the  God  of  pity,  of  justice, 
and  of  right  is  my  God ;  and  in  His  name  be  it  said  that 
this  crime  was  a  crime  of  Sheitan  the  accursed." 

In  a  low  voice  the  chairman  put  the  resolution.  The 
Earl  of  Eglington  voted  in  its  favor. 

Walking  the  hills  homeward  with  Ebn  Ezra  Bey, 
Luke,  Faith,  and  John  Fairley,  David  kept  saying  over 
to  himself  the  words  of  Benn  Claridge:  "/  have  called 
thee  so  often  of  late.  Good-morrow!  Good-morrow!  Good- 
morrow!     Can  you  not  hear  me  call  f" 


BOOK     II 


THE    WIDER    WAY 

Some  months  later  the  following  letter  came  to  David 
Claridge  in  Cairo  from  Faith  Claridge  in  Hamley: 

"David,  I  write  thee  from  the  village  and  the  land  and 
the  people  thee  did  once  love  so  well.  Does  thee  love 
them  still  ?  They  gave  thee  sour  bread  to  eat  ere  thy  go- 
ing, but  yet  thee  didst  grind  the  flour  for  the  baking. 
Thee  didst  frighten  all  who  knew  thee  with  thy  doings 
that  mad  midsummer  time.  The  tavern,  the  theatre,  the 
cross-roads,  and  the  cockpit — was  ever  such  a  day! 

"Now,  Davy,  I  must  tell  of  a  strange  thing.  But 
first,  a  moment.  Thee  remembers  the  man  Kimber 
smitten  by  thee  at  the  public-house  on  that  day  ?  What 
think  thee  has  happened?  He  followed  to  London  the 
lass  kissed  by  thee,  and  besought  her  to  return  and 
marry  him.  This  she  refused  at  first  with  anger;  but 
afterwards  she  said  that,  if  in  three  years  he  was  of  the 
same  mind,  and  stayed  sober  and  hard-working  mean- 
while, she  would  give  him  an  answer,  she  would  consider. 
Her  head  was  high.  She  has  become  maid  to  a  lady  of 
degree,  who  has  well  befriended  her. 

"How  do  I  know  these  things?  Even  from  Jasper 
Kimber,  who,  on  his  return  from  London,  was  taken  to 
his  bed  with  fever.  Because  of  the  hard  blows  dealt  him 
by  thee,  1  went  to  make  amends.  lie  welcomed  me, 
and  soon  opened  his  whole  mind.     That  mind  has  gen- 

41 


THE    WEAVERS 

erous  moments,  David,  for  he  took  to  being  thankful  for 
thy  knocks. 

"Now  for  the  strange  thing  I  hinted.  After  visiting 
Jasper  Kimber  at  Heddington,  as  I  came  back  over  the 
hill  by  the  path  we  all  took  that  day  after  the  Meeting — 
Ebn  Ezra  Bey,  my  father,  Elder  Fairley,  and  thee  and 
me — I  drew  near  the  chairmaker's  hut  where  thee  lived 
alone  all  those  sad  months.  It  was  late  evening;  the 
sun  had  set.  Yet  I  felt  that  I  must  needs  go  and  lay  my 
hand  in  love  upon  the  door  of  the  empty  hut  which  had 
been  ever  as  thee  left  it.  So  I  came  down  the  little  path 
swiftly,  and  then  round  the  great  rock,  and  up  towards 
the  door.  But,  as  I  did  so,  my  heart  stood  still,  for  I 
heard  voices.  Tne  door  was  open,  but  I  could  see  no  one. 
Yet  there  the  voices  sounded,  one  sharp  and  peevish 
with  anger,  the  other  low  and  rough.  I  could  not  hear 
what  was  said.  At  last  a  figure  came  from  the  door  and 
went  quickly  down  the  hillside.  Who,  think  thee,  was 
it?  Even  'neighbor  Eglington.'  I  knew  the  walk  and 
the  forward  thrust  of  the  head.  Inside  the  hut  all  was 
still.  I  drew  near  with  a  kind  of  fear,  but  yet  I  came 
to  the  door  and  looked  in 

"As  I  looked  into  the  dusk  my  limbs  trembled  under 
me,  for  who  should  be  sitting  there,  a  half -finished  chair 
between  his  knees,  but  Soolsby  the  old  chairmaker!  Yes. 
it  was  he.  There  he  sat,  looking  at  me  with  his  staring 
blue  eyes  and  shock  of  red-gray  hair. 

"'Soolsby!  Soolsby!'  said  I,  my  heart  hammering  at 
my  breast,  for  was  not  Soolsby  dead  and  buried  ?  His 
eyes  stared  at  me  in  fright.  'Why  do  you  come?'  he 
said  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  '  Is  he  dead,  then  ?  Has  harm 
come  to  him  ?' 

"By  now  I  had  recovered  myself,  for  it  was  no  ghost 
I  saw,  but  a  human  being  more  distraught  than  was  my- 
self. 

'"Do  you  not  know  me,  Soolsby?'  I  asked. 

42 


THE    WEAVERS 

" '  You  are  Mercy  Claridge — -from  beyond — beyond  and 
away!'  he  answered  dazedly. 

'"I  am  Faith  Claridge,  Soolsby,'  answered  I.  He 
started,  peered  forward  at  me,  and  for  a  moment  he  did 
not  speak;  then  the  fear  went  from  his  face.  'Ay,  Faith 
Claridge,  as  I  said,'  he  answered  with  apparent  under- 
standing, his  stark  mood  passing.  'No,  thee  said  Mercy 
Claridge,  Soolsby,'  said  I,  'and  she  has  been  asleep  these 
many  years.'  'Ay,  she  has  slept  soundly,  thanks  be  to 
God!' he  replied,  and  crossed  himself.  'Why  should  thee 
call  me  by  her  name ?'  I  inquired.  'Ay,  is  not  her  tomb 
in  the  churchyard?'  he  answered,  and  added  quickly, 
'Luke  Claridge  and  I  are  of  an  age  to  a  day— which, 
think  you,  will  go  first?' 

"He  stopped  weaving,  and  peered  over  at  me  with  his 
staring  blue  eyes,  and  I  felt  a  sudden  quickening  of  the 
heart.  For,  at  the  question,  curtains  seemed  to  drop 
from  all  around  me,  and  leave  me  in  the  midst  of  pains 
and  miseries,  in  a  chill  air  that  froze  me  to  the  marrow. 
I  saw  myself  alone — thee  in  Egypt  and  I  here,  and  none 
of  our  blood  and  name  beside  me.  For  we  are  the  last, 
Davy,  the  last  of  the  Claridges.  But  I  said  coldly,  and 
with  what  was  near  to  anger,  that  he  should  link  his  name 
and  fate  with  that  of  Luke  Claridge,  'Which  of  ye  two 
goes  first  is  God's  will,  and  according  to  His  wisdom. 
Which,  think  thee,'  added  I — and  now  I  cannot  forgive 
myself  for  saying  it — 'which,  think  thee,  would  do  least 
harm  in  going?'  'I  know  which  would  do  most  good,' 
he  answered,  with  a  harsh  laugh  in  his  throat.  Yet  his 
blue  eyes  looked  kindly  at  mc,  and  now  he  began  to  nod 
pleasantly.  I  thought  him  a  little  mad,  but  yet  his 
speech  had  seemed  not  without  dark  meaning. 

'"Thee  has  had  a  visitor,'  I  said  to  him  presently. 
He  laughed  in  a  snarling  way  that  made  me  shrink,  and 
answered:  'He  wanted  this  and  he  wanted  that  —  his 
hij/h-handed,  secombbest  lordship!     Ay,  and   he  would 

43 


THE    WEAVERS 

have  it  because  it  pleased  him  to  have  it — like  his  father 
before  him.  A  poor  sparrow  on  a  tree-top,  if  you  tell 
him  he  must  not  have  it,  he  will  hunt  it  down  the  world 
till  it  is  his,  as  though  it  was  a  bird  of  paradise.  And 
when  he's  seen  it  fall  at  last,  he'll  remember  but  the  fun 
of  the  chase ;  and  the  bird  may  get  to  its  tree-top  again 
— if  it  can — if  it  can — if  it  can,  my  lord!  That  is  what 
his  father  was,  the  last  Earl,  and  that  is  what  he  is 
who  left  my  door  but  now.  He  came  to  snatch  old 
Soolsby's  palace,  his  nest  on  the  hill,  to  use  it  for  a  tele- 
scope, or  such  whimsies.  He  has  scientific  tricks  like  his 
father  before  him.  Now  it  is  astronomy,  and  now  chem- 
istry, and  such  like ;  and  always  it  is  the  Eglington  mind, 
which  let  God  A'mighty  make  it  as  a  favor.  He  would 
have  old  Soolsby's  palace  for  his  spy-glass,  would  he 
then?  It  scared  him,  as  though  I  was  the  devil  him- 
self, to  find  me  here.  I  had  but  come  back  in  time — 
a  day  later,  and  he  would  have  sat  here  and  seen  me 
in  the  Pit  below  before  giving  way.  Possession's  nine 
points  were  with  me ;  and  here  I  sat  and  faced  him ;  and 
here  he  stormed,  and  would  do  this  and  should  do  that; 
and  I  went  on  with  my  work.  Then  he  would  buy  my 
Colisyum,  and  I  wouldn't  sell  it  for  all  his  puff-ball  lord- 
ship might  offer.  Isn't  the  house  of  the  snail  as  much 
to  him  as  the  turtle's  shell  to  the  turtle?  I'll  have  no 
upstart  spilling  his  chemicals  here,  or  devilling  the  stars 
from  a  seat  on  my  roof.' 

'"Last  autumn,'  said  I,  'David  Claridge  was  housed 
here.     Thy  palace  was  a  prison  then.' 

"'I  know  well  of  that.  Haven't  I  found  his  records 
here  ?  And  do  you  think  his  makeshift  lordship  did  not 
remind  me  ?' 

'"Records?  What  records  Soolsby?'  asked  I,  most 
curious. 

"'Writings  of  his  thoughts  which  he  forgot — food  for 
mind  and  body  left  in  the  cupboard,'     'Give  them  to 

44 


THE    WEAVERS 

me — upon  this  instant,  Soolsby,'  said  I.  'All  but  one,' 
said  he,  'and  that  is  my  own,  for  it  was  his  mind  upon 
Soolsby  the  drunken  chairmaker.  God  save  him  from 
the  heathen  sword  that  slew  his  uncle.  Two  better  men 
never  sat  upon  a  chair!' 

"He  placed  the  papers  in  my  hand,  all  save  that  one 
which  spoke  of  him.  Ah,  David,  what  with  the  flute  and 
the  pen,  banishment  was  no  pain  to  thee!  ...  He  placed 
the  papers,  save  that  one,  in  my  hands,  and  I,  womanlike, 
asked  again  for  all.  '  Some  day,'  said  he,  '  come,  and  I  will 
read  it  to  you.  Nay,  I  will  give  you  a  taste  of  it  now,'  he 
added  as  he  brought  forth  the  writing.     '  Thus  it  reads.' 

"Here  are  thy  words,  Davy.  What  think  thee  of 
them  now? 

'"As  I  dwell  in  this  house  I  know  Soolsby  as  I  never 
knew  him  when  he  lived,  and  though,  up  here,  I  spent 
many  an  hour  with  him.  Men  leave  their  impressions  on 
all  around  them.  The  walls  which  have  felt  their  look 
and  their  breath,  the  floor  which  has  taken  their  footsteps, 
the  chairs  in  which  they  have  sat,  have  something  of  their 
presence.  I  feel  Soolsby  here  at  times  so  sharply  that  it 
would  seem  he  came  again  and  was  in  this  room,  though 
he  is  dead  and  gone.  I  ask  him  how  it  came  he  lived  here 
alone;  how  it  came  that  he  made  chairs,  he,  with  brains 
enough  to  build  great  houses  or  great  bridges;  how  it  was 
that  drink  and  he  were  such  friends ;  and  how  he,  a  Catholic, 
lived  here  among  us  Quakers,  so  singular,  uncompanion- 
able, and  severe.  I  think  it  true,  and  sadly  true,  that  a 
man  with  a  vice  which  he  is  able  to  satisfy  easily  and  ha- 
bitually, even  as  another  satisfies  a  virtue,  may  give  up 
the  wider  actions  of  the  world  and  the  possibilities  of  his 
life  for  the  pleasure  which  his  one  vice  gives  him,  and 
neither  miss  nor  desire  those  greater  chances  of  virtue  or 
ambition  which  he  has  lost.  The  simplicity  of  a  vice  may 
be  as  real  as  the  simplicity  of  a  virtue.' 

"Ah,  David,  David,  I  know  not  what  to  think  of 
those  strange  words;  but  old  Soolsby  seemed  well  to 

45 


THE    WEAVERS 

understand  thee,  and  he  called  thee  'a  first-best  gentle- 
man.' Is  my  story  long?  Well,  it  was  so  strange,  and 
it  fixed  itself  upon  my  mind  so  deeply,  and  thy  writings 
at  the  hut  have  been  so  much  in  my  hands  and  in  my 
mind,  that  I  have  put  it  all  down  here.  When  I  asked 
Soolsby  how  it  came  he  had  been  rumored  dead,  he  said 
that  he  himself  had  been  the  cause  of  it;  but  for  what 
purpose  he  would  not  say,  save  that  he  was  going  a  long 
voyage,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  return  no  more. 
'I  had  a  friend,'  he  said,  'and  I  was  set  to  go  and  see 
that  friend  again.  .  .  .  But  the  years  go  on,  and  friends 
have  an  end.  Life  spills  faster  than  the  years,'  he  said. 
And  he  would  say  no  more,  but  would  walk  with  me 
even  to  my  father's  door.  'May  the  Blessed  Virgin  and 
all  the  Saints  be  with  you,'  he  said  at  parting,  'if  you 
will  have  a  blessing  from  them.  And  tell  him  who  is  be- 
yond and  away  in  Egypt  that  old  Soolsby's  busy  making 
a  chair  for  him  to  sit  in  when  the  scarlet  cloth  is  spread, 
and  the  East  and  West  come  to  salaam  before  him. 
Tell  him  the  old  man  says  his  fluting  will  be  heard!' 

"And  now,  David,  I  have  told  thee  all,  nearly.  Re- 
mains to  say  that  thy  one  letter  did  our  hearts  good.  My 
father  reads  it  over  and  over,  and  shakes  his  head  sadly, 
for,  truth  is,  he  has  a  fear  that  the  world  may  lay  its 
hand  upon  thee.  One  thing  I  do  observe,  his  heart  is 
hard  set  against  Lord  Eglington.  In  degree  it  has  ever 
been  so ;  but  now  it  is  like  a  constant  frown  upon  his  fore- 
head. I  see  him  at  his  window  looking  out  towards 
the  Cloistered  House;  and  if  our  neighbor  come  forth 
— perhaps  upon  his  hunter,  or  now  in  his  cart,  or  again 
with  his  dogs,  he  draws  his  hat  down  upon  his  eyes  and 
whispers  to  himself.  I  think  he  is  ever  setting  thee  off 
against  Lord  Eglington;  and  that  is  foolish,  for  Egling- 
ton is  but  a  man  of  the  earth  earthy.  His  is  the  soul 
of  the  adventurer. 

"Now  what  more  is  there  to  say?     I  must  ask  thee 

46 


THE    WEAVERS 

how  is  thy  friend  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  ?  I  am  glad  thee  did 
find  all  he  said  was  true,  and  that  in  Damascus  thee  was 
able  to  set  a  mark  by  my  uncle's  grave.  But  that  the 
Prince  Pasha  of  Egypt  has  set  up  a  claim  against  my 
uncle's  property  is  evil  news;  though,  thanks  be  to  God, 
as  my  father  says,  we  have  enough  to  keep  us  fed  and 
clothed  and  housed!  But  do  thee  keep  enough  of  thy 
inheritance  to  bring  thee  safe  home  again  to  those  who 
love  thee.  England  is  ever  gray,  Davy,  but  without 
thee  it  is  grizzled — all  one  'Quaker  drab,'  as  says  the 
Philistine.  But  it  is  a  comely  and  a  good  land,  and 
here  we  wait  for  thee. 

"In  love  and  remembrance, 

'I  am  thy  mother's  sister,  thy  most  loving  friend, 

"Faith." 

David  received  this  letter  as  he  was  mounting  a  huge 
white  Syrian  donkey  to  ride  to  the  Mokattam  Hills, 
which  rise  sharply  behind  Cairo,  burning  and  lonely  and 
large.  The  cities  of  the  dead  Khalifas  and  Mamelukes 
separated  them  from  the  living  city  where  the  fellah 
toiled,  and  Arab,  Bedouin,  Copt,  strove  together  to  in- 
tercept the  fruits  of  his  toiling,  as  it  passed  in  the  form 
of  taxes  to  the  Palace  of  the  Prince  Pasha;  while  in  the 
dark  corners  crouched,  waiting,  the  cormorant  usurers  — 
Greeks,  Armenians,  and  Syrians,  a  hideous  salvage  corps, 
who  saved  the  house  of  a  man  that  they  might  at  last 
walk  off  with  his  shirt  and  the  cloth  under  which  he 
was  carried  to  his  grave.  In  a  thousand  narrow  streets 
and  lanes,  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  bazaars,  in  earth-damp 
huts,  by  blistering  quays,  on  the  myriad  ghiassas  on 
the  river,  from  long  before  sunrise  till  the  sunset-gun 
boomed  from  the  citadel  rising  beside  the  great  mosque 
whose  pinnacles  seem  to  touch  the  blue,  the  slaves  of 
the  city  of  Prince  Kaid  ground  out  their  lives  like  corn 
between  the  millstones. 

47 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  had  been  long  enough  in  Egypt  to  know  what 
sort  of  toiling  it  was.  A  man's  labor  was  not  his  own. 
The  fellah  gave  labor  and  taxes  and  backsheesh  and  life 
to  the  state,  and  to  the  long  line  of  tyrants  above  him, 
under  the  sting  of  the  kourbash;  and  the  high  officials 
gave  backsheesh  to  the  Prince  Pasha,  or  to  his  Mouffetish, 
or  to  his  Chief  Eunuch,  or  to  his  barber,  or  to  some  slave 
who  had  his  ear. 

But  all  the  time  the  bright,  unclouded  sun  looked  down 
on  a  smiling  land,  and  in  Cairo  streets  the  din  of  the  ham- 
mers, the  voices  of  the  boys  driving  heavily  laden  don- 
keys, the  call  of  the  camel-drivers  leading  their  caravans 
into  the  great  squares,  the  clang  of  the  brasses  of  the 
sherbet-sellers,  the  song  of  the  vender  of  sweetmeats, 
the  drone  of  the  merchant  praising  his  wares,  went  on 
amid  scenes  of  wealth  and  luxury,  and  the  city  glowed 
with  color  and  gleamed  with  light.  Dark  faces  grinned 
over  the  steaming  pot  at  the  door  of  the  cafes,  idlers  on  the 
benches  smoked  hasheesh;  female  street  dancers  bared 
their  faces  shamelessly  to  the  men,  and  indolent  musicians 
beat  on  their  tiny  drums,  and  sang  the  song  of  "O  Sey- 
yid,"  or  of  " Antar" ;  and  the  reciter  gave  his  singsong 
tale  from  a  bench  above  his  fellows.  Here  a  devout 
Muslim,  indifferent  to  the  presence  of  strangers,  turned 
his  face  to  the  East,  touched  his  forehead  to  the  ground, 
and  said  his  prayers.  There,  hung  to  a  tree  by  a  de- 
serted mosque  near  by,  the  body  of  one  who  was  with 
them  all  an  hour  before,  and  who  had  paid  the  penalty 
for  some  real  or  imaginary  crime;  while  his  fellows 
blessed  Allah  that  the  storm  had  passed  them  by.  Guilt 
or  innocence  did  not  weigh  with  them ;  and  the  dead  crim- 
inal, if  such  he  were,  who  had  drunk  his  glass  of  water 
and  prayed  to  Allah,  was  in  their  sight  only  fortunate 
and  not  disgraced,  and  had  "gone  to  the  bosom  of 
Allah."  Now  the  Muezzin  from  a  minaret  called  to 
prayer,   and  the  fellah  in   his  cotton   shirt   and  yetek 

48 


THE    WEAVERS 

heard,  laid  his  load  aside,  and  yielded  himself  to  his  one 
dear  illusion,  which  would  enable  him  to  meet  with 
apathy  his  end — it  might  be  to-morrow! — and  go  forth 
to  that  plenteous  heaven  where  wives  without  number 
awaited  him,  where  fields  would  yield  harvests  without 
labor,  where  rich  food  in  gold  dishes  would  be  ever  at 
his  hand.     This  was  his  faith. 

David  had  now  been  in  the  country  six  months,  rap- 
idly perfecting  his  knowledge  of  Arabic,  speaking  it  always 
to  his  servant,  Mahommed  Hassan,  whom  he  had  picked 
from  the  streets.  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  had  gone  upon  his  own 
business  to  Fazougli,  the  tropical  Siberia  of  Egypt,  to 
liberate  by  order  of  Prince  Kaid, — and  at  a  high  price 
— a  relative  banished  there.  David  had  not  yet  been 
fortunate  with  his  own  business  —  the  settlement  of 
his  Uncle  Benn's  estate— though  the  last  stages  of  ne- 
gotiation with  the  Prince  Pasha  seemed  to  have  been 
reached.  When  he  had  brought  the  influence  of  the 
British  Consulate  to  bear,  promises  were  made,  doors  were 
opened  wide,  and  pasha  and  bey  offered  him  coffee  and 
talked  to  him  sympathetically.  They  had  respect  for  him 
more  than  for  most  Franks,  because  the  Prince  Pasha  had 
honored  him  with  especial  favor.  Perhaps  because  David 
wore  his  hat  always  and  the  long  coat  with  high  collar  like 
a  Turk,  or  because  Prince  Kaid  was  an  acute  judge  of 
human  nature,  and  also  because  honesty  was  a  thing  he 
greatly  desired — in  others — and  never  found  near  his 
own  person;  however  it  was,  he  had  set  David  high  in 
his  esteem  at  once.  This  esteem  gave  greater  certainty, 
that  any  backsheesh  coming  from  the  estate  of  Benn 
Claridge  would  not  be  sifted  through  many  hands  on 
its  way  to  himself.  Of  Benn  Claridge  Prince  Kaid  had 
scarcely  even  heard  until  he  died ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  only 
within  the  past  few  years  that  the  Quaker  merchant  had 
extended  his  business  to  Egypt  and  had  made  his  heat] 
quarters  at  Assiout,  up  the  river, 

49 


THE    WEAVERS 

David's  donkey  now  picked  its  way  carefully  through 
the  narrow  streets  of  the  Mousky.  Arabs  and  fellahs 
squatting  at  street  corners  looked  at  him  with  furtive 
interest.  A  foreigner  of  this  character  they  had  never 
before  seen,  with  coat  buttoned  up  like  an  Egyptian 
official  in  the  presence  of  his  superior,  and  this  wide,  droll 
hat  on  his  head.  David  knew  that  he  ran  risks,  that  his 
confidence  invited  the  occasional  madness  of  a  fanatical 
mind,  which  makes  murder  of  the  infidel  a  passport  to 
heaven;  but,  as  a  man,  he  took  his  chances,  and  as  a 
Christian  he  believed  he  would  suffer  no  mortal  hurt  till 
his  appointed  time.  He  was  more  Oriental,  more  fatal- 
ist, than  he  knew.  He  had  also  learned  early  in  his  life 
that  an  honest  smile  begets  confidence;  and  his  face, 
grave  and  even  a  little  austere  in  outline,  was  usually 
lighted  by  a  smile. 

From  the  Mokattam  Hills,  where  he  read  Faith's  letter 
again,  his  back  against  one  of  the  forts  which  Napoleon 
had  built  in  his  Egyptian  days,  he  scanned  the  distance. 
At  his  feet  lay  the  great  mosque  and  the  citadel,  whose 
guns  controlled  the  city,  could  pour  into  it  a  lava  stream 
of  shot  and  shell.  The  Nile  wound  its  way  through  the 
green  plains,  stretching  as  far  to  the  north  as  eye  could 
see  between  the  opal  and  mauve  and  gold  of  the  Libyan 
Hills.  Far  over  in  the  western  vista  a  long  line  of  trees, 
twining  through  an  oasis  flanking  the  city,  led  out  to  a 
point  where  the  desert  abruptly  raised  its  hills  of  yellow 
sand.  Here,  enormous,  lonely,  and  cynical,  the  pyra- 
mids which  Cheops  had  built,  the  stone  sphinx  of  Ghi- 
zeh,  kept  faith  with  the  desert  in  the  glow  of  a  rainless 
land — reminders  ever  that  the  East,  the  mother  of  knowl- 
edge, will  by  knowledge  prevail;  that 

"The  thousand  years  of  thy  insolence, 
The  thousand  years  of  thy  faith, 
Will  be  paid  in  fiery  recompense, 

And  a  thousand  years  of  bitter  death." 

5o 


THE    WEAVERS 

"The  sword — forever  the  sword,"  David  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  looked.  "Rameses  and  David  and  Mahomet 
and  Constantine,  and  how  many  conquests  have  been 
made  in  the  name  of  God!  But  after  other  conquests 
there  have  been  peace  and  order  and  law.  Here  in 
Egypt  it  is  ever  the  sword — the  survival  of  the  strong- 
est." 

As  he  made  his  way  down  the  hillside  again  he  fell  to 
thinking  upon  all  Faith  had  written.  The  return  of  the 
drunken  chairmaker  made  a  deep  impression  on  him — 
almost  as  deep  as  the  waking  dreams  he  had  had  of  his 
uncle  calling  him. 

"Soolsby  and  I — what  is  there  between  Soolsby  and 
me?"  he  asked  himself  now  as  he  made  his  way  past 
the  tombs  of  the  Mamelukes.  "He  and  I  are  as  far 
apart  as  the  poles,  and  yet  it  comes  to  me  now,  with  a 
strange  conviction,  that  somehow  my  life  will  be  linked 
with  that  of  the  drunken  Romish  chairmaker.  To  what 
end  ?"  Then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  his  Uncle  Bcnn.  The 
East  was  calling  him.  "Something  works  within  me  to 
hold  me  here — a  work  to  do,"  he  murmured. 

From  the  ramparts  of  the  citadel  he  watched  the  sun 
go  down,  bathing  the  pyramids  in  a  purple  and  golden 
light,  throwing  a  glamour  over  all  the  Western  plain,  and 
making  heavenly  the  far  hills  with  a  plaintive  color, 
which  spoke  of  peace  and  rest,  but  not  of  hope.  As  he 
stood  watching,  he  was  conscious  of  people  approaching. 
Voices  mingled,  there  was  light  laughter,  little  bursts  of 
admiration,  then  lower  tones,  and  then  he  was  roused  by 
a  voice  calling.  He  turned  round.  A  group  of  people 
were  moving  towards  the  exit  from  the  ramparts,  and 
near  himself  stood  a  man  waving  an  adieu. 

"Well,  give  my  love  to  the  girls!"  said  the  man 
cheerily. 

Merry  faces  looked  back  and  nodded,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment   they  were   gone.      The    man    turned  round  and 

5i 


THE    WEAVERS 

looked  at  David;  then  he  jerked  his  head  in  a  friendly 
sort  of  way,  and  motioned  towards  the  sunset. 

"Good  enough,  eh?" 

"Surely,"  answered  David.  On  the  instant  he  liked 
the  red,  wholesome  face,  and  the  keen,  round,  blue  eyes, 
the  rather  opulent  figure,  the  shrewd,  whimsical  smile, 
all  aglow  now  with  beaming  sentimentality,  which  had 
from  its  softest  corner  called  out,  "Well,  give  my  love  to 
the  girls!" 

"Quaker,  or  I  never  saw  Germantown  and  Phila- 
delphy,"  he  continued  with  a  friendly  manner  quite 
without  offence.  "I  put  my  money  on  Quakers  every 
time." 

"But  not  from  Germantown  or  Philadelphia,"  an- 
swered David,  declining  a  cigar  which  his  new  acquaint- 
ance offered. 

"Bet  you,  I  know  that  all  right.  But  I  never  saw 
Quakers  anywhere  else,  and  I  meant  the  tribe  and  not 
the  tent.  English,  I  bet?  Of  course,  or  you  wouldn't 
be  talking  the  English  language — though  I've  heard  they 
talk  it  better  in  Boston  than  they  do  in  England,  and  in 
Chicago  they're  making  new  English  every  day  and 
improving  on  the  patent.  If  Chicago  can't  have  the 
newest  thing,  she  won't  have  anything.  'High  hopes 
that  burn  like  stars  sublime,'  has  Chicago.  She  won't  let 
Shakespeare  or  Milton  be  standards  much  longer.  She 
won't  have  it — simply  won't  have  England  swaggering 
over  the  English  language.  Oh,  she's  dizzy,  is  Chicago — 
simply  dizzy.  I  was  born  there.  Parents,  one  Philadel- 
phy,  one  New  York,  one  Pawtucket — the  Pawtucket  one 
was  the  stepmother.  Father  liked  his  wives  from  the 
original  States;  but  I  was  born  in  Chicago.  My  name  is 
Lacey — Thomas  Tilman  Lacey,  of  Chicago." 

"I  thank  thee,"  said  David. 

"And  you,  sir?" 

"David  Claridge." 

52 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Of—?" 

"Of  Hamley." 

"Mr.  Claridge,  of  Hamley.  Mr.  Claridge,  I  am  glad 
to  meet  you."  They  shook  hands.  "Been  here  long, 
Mr.  Claridge?" 

"A  few  months  only." 

"Queer  place — gilt-edged  dust-bin;  get  anything  you 
like  here,  from  a  fresh  gutter-snipe  to  old  Haroun-al- 
Raschid.  It's  the  biggest  jack-pot  on  earth.  Barnum's 
the  man  for  this  place  —  P.  T.  Barnum.  Golly,  how 
the  whole  thing  glitters  and  stews!  Out  at  Shoobra 
his  High  Jinks  Pasha  kennels  with  his  lions  and  lives 
with  his  cellars  of  gold,  as  if  he  was  going  to  take  them 
with  him  where  he's  going — and  he's  going  fast.  Here 
— down  here,  the  people,  the  real  people,  sweat  and 
drudge  between  a  cake  of  dour  ha,  an  onion,  and  a  balass 
of  water  at  one  end  of  the  day,  and  a  hemp  collar  and 
their  feet  off  the  ground  at  the  other." 

"You  have  seen  much  of  Egypt  ?"  asked  David,  feeling  a 
strange  confidence  in  the  garrulous  man,  whose  frankness 
was  united  to  shrewdness  and  a  quick,  observant  eye. 

"How  much  of  Egypt  I've  seen,  the  Egypt  where  more 
men  get  lost,  strayed,  and  stolen  than  die  in  their  beds 
every  day,  the  Egypt  where  a  eunuch  is  more  powerful 
than  a  minister,  where  an  official  will  toss  away  a  life  as 
I'd  toss  this  cigar  down  there  where  the  last  Mameluke 
captain  made  his  great  jump,  where  women  —  Lord 
A 'mighty! — where  women  are  divorced  by  one  evil  hus- 
band by  the  dozen  for  nothing  they  ever  did  or  left 
undone,  and  yet'd  be  cut  to  pieces  by  their  own  fathers 
if  they  learned  that  'To  step  aside  is  human — '  Mr. 
Claridge,  of  that  Egypt  I  don't  know  much  morc'n 
would  entitle  me  to  say,  How  d'ye  do.  But  it's  enough 
for  me.     You've  seen  something     eh?" 

"A  little.  It  is  not  civilized  life  here.  Yet — yet  a 
few  strong,  patriotic  men — " 

53 


THE    WEAVERS 

Lacey  looked  quizzically  at  David.  "Say,"  he  said, 
"I  thought  that  about  Mexico  once.  I  said  Manana — 
this  Manana  is  the  curse  of  Mexico.  It's  always  to- 
morrow— to-morrow — to-morrow!  Let's  teach  'era  to 
do  things  to-day.  Let's  show  'emwhpt  business  means. 
Two  million  dollars  went  into  that  experiment,  but  Ma- 
nana won.  We  had  good  hands,  but  it  had  the  joker! 
After  five  years  I  left — with  a  bald  head  at  twenty-nine, 
and  a  little  book  of  noble  thoughts — '  Tips  for  the  Tired, 
or  Things  you  can  say  To-day  on  what  you  can  do  To- 
morrow.' I  lost  my  hair  worrying,  but  I  learnt  to  be 
patient.  The  Dagos  wanted  to  live  in  their  own  way, 
and  they  did.  It's  one  thing  to  be  a  missionary  and  say 
the  little  word  in  season;  it's  another  to  run  your  soft 
red  head  against  a  hard  stone  wall.  I  went  to  Mexico  a 
conquistador,  I  left  it  a  child  of  time,  who  had  learned  to 
smile;  and  I  left  some  millions  behind  me,  too.  I  said  to 
an  old  padre  down  there  that  I  knew — we  used  to  meet 
in  the  Cafe"  Manrique'  and  drink  chocolate — I  said  to  him, 
'Padre,  the  Lord's  Prayer  is  a  mistake  down  here.'  'Si, 
senor,'  he  said,  and  smiled  his  far-away  smile  at  me. 
'Yes,'  said  I,  'for  you  say  in  the  Lord's  Prayer,  "Give 
us  this  day  our  daily  bread."  '  'Si,  senor,'  he  says,  'but 
we  do  not  expect  it  till  to-morrow!'  The  Padre  knew 
from  the  start,  but  I  learned  at  great  expense,  and  went 
out  of  business — closed  up  shop  forever,  with  a  bald  head 
and  my  '  Tips  for  the  Tired.'  Well,  I've  had  more  out  of 
it  all,  I  guess,  than  if  I'd  trebled  the  millions  and  wiped 
Manana  off  the  Mexican  coat  of  arms." 

"You  think  it  would  be  like  that  here?"  David  asked 
abstractedly. 

Lacey  whistled.  "There  the  government  was  all  right 
and  the  people  all  wrong.  Here  the  people  are  all  right 
and  the  government  all  wrong.  Say,  it  makes  my  eyes 
water  sometimes  to  see  the  fellah  slogging  away.  He's 
a  Jim-dandy — works  all  day  and  half  the  night,  and  if 

54 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  tax-gatherer  isn't  at  the  door,  wakes  up  laughing. 
I  saw  one" — his  light-blue  eyes  took  on  a  sudden  hard- 
ness— ' '  laughing  on  the  other  side  of  his  mouth  one  morn- 
ing. They  were  '  kourbashing '  his  feet ;  I  landed  on  them 
as  the  soles  came  away.  I  hit  out."  His  face  became 
grave,  he  turned  the  cigar  round  in  his  mouth.  ' '  It  made 
me  feel  better,  but  I  had  a  close  call.  Lucky  for  me  that 
in  Mexico  I  got  into  the  habit  of  carrying  a  pop-gun.  It 
saved  me  then.  But  it  isn't  any  use  going  on  these 
special  missions.  We  Americans  think  a  lot  of  ourselves. 
We  want  every  land  to  do  as  we  do;  and  we  want  to 
make  'em  do  it.  But  a  strong  man  here  at  the  head, 
with  a  sword  in  his  hand,  peace  in  his  heart,  who'd  be 
just  and  poor — how  can  you  make  officials  honest  when 
you  take  all  you  can  get  yourself!  —  But,  no,  I  guess 
it's  no  good.     This  is  a  rotten  cotton  show." 

Lacey  had  talked  so  much,  not  because  he  was  gar- 
rulous only,  but  because  the  inquiry  in  David's  eyes  was 
an  encouragement  to  talk.  Whatever  his  misfortunes 
in  Mexico  had  been,  his  forty  years  sat  lightly  on  him, 
and  his  expansive  temperament,  his  childlike  sentimen- 
tality, gave  him  an  appearance  of  beaming,  sophisticated 
youth.  David  was  slowly  apprehending  these  things  as 
he  talked — subconsciously,  as  it  were;  for  he  was  seeing 
pictures  of  the  things  he  himself  had  observed  through 
the  lens  of  another  mind,  as  primitive  in  some  regards  as 
his  own,  but  influenced  by  different  experiences. 

"Say,  you're  the  best  listener  I  ever  saw,"  added 
Lacey  with  a  laugh. 

David  held  out  his  hand.  'Thee  sees  things  clearly," 
he  answered.     Lacey  grasped  his  hand. 

At  that  moment  an  orderly  advanced  towards  them. 

"He's  after  us — one  of  the  Palace  cavalry,"  said  Lacey. 

"Effendi — the  Effendi  Claridge!  May  his  grave  be 
not  made  till  the  karadh  -  gatherers  return,"  said  the 
orderly  to  David. 

5  55 


THE    WEAVERS 

"My  name  is  Claridge,"  answered  David. 

"To  the  hotel,  effendi,  first,  then  to  the  Mokattam 
Hills  after  thee,  then  here — from  the  Effendina,  on  whom 
be  God's  peace!  this  letter  for  thee." 

David  took  the  letter.  As  he  read  it,  Lacey  said  to 
the  orderly  in  Arabic,  "How  didst  thou  know  he  was 
here?" 

The  orderly  grinned  wickedly.  "Always  it  is  known 
what  place  the  effendi  honors.  It  is  not  dark  where  he 
uncovers  his  face." 

Lacey  gave  a  low  whistle. 

"Say,  you've  got  a  pull  in  this  show,"  he  said,  as 
David  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  "In 
Egypt,  if  the  master  smiles  on  you,  the  servant  puts  his 
nose  in  the  dust." 

"The  Prince  Pasha  bids  me  to  dinner  at  the  Palace 
to-night.     I  have  no  clothes  for  such  affairs.     Yet — " 

His  mind  was  asking  itself  if  this  was  a  door  opening 
which  he  had  no  right  to  shut  with  his  own  hand.  There 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  go;  therefore  there 
might  be  a  reason  why  he  should  go.  It  might  be,  it  no 
doubt  was,  in  the  way  of  facilitating  his  business.  He 
dismissed  the  orderly  with  an  affirmative  and  ceremonial 
message  to  Prince  Kaid — and  a  piece  of  gold. 

"You've  learned  the  custom  of  the  place,"  said  Lacey, 
as  he  saw  the  gold  piece  glitter  in  the  brown  palm  of  the 
orderly. 

"I  suppose  the  man's  only  pay  is  in  such  service," 
rejoined  David.  "  It  is  a  land  of  backsheesh.  The  fault 
is  not  with  the  people ;  it  is  with  the  rulers.  I  do  not 
lament  sharing  my  goods  with  the  poor." 

"You'll  have  a  big  going  concern  here  in  no  time," 
observed  Lacey.  "Now  if  I  had  those  millions  I  left 
in  Mexico — "  Suddenly  he  stopped.  "  Is  it  you  that's 
trying  to  settle  up  an  estate  here — up  at  Assiout — belong- 
ed to  an  uncle — same  persuasion?" 

56 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  inclined  his  head. 

'They  say  that  you  and  Prince  Kaid  are  doing  the 
thing  yourselves,  and  that  the  pashas  and  judges  and  all 
the  high-mogul  sharks  of  the  Medjidie  think  that  the 
end  of  the  world  has  come.     Is  that  so?" 

"It  is  so,  if  not  completely  so.  There  are  the  poor 
men  and  humble — the  pashas  and  judges  and  the  others 
of  the  Medjidie,  as  thee  said,  are  not  poor.  But  such  as 
the  orderly  yonder — "     He  paused  meditatively. 

Lacey  looked  at  David  with  profound  respect.  "You 
make  the  poorest  your  partners,  your  friends.  I  see,  I 
see.  Jerusalem,  that's  masterly!  I  admire  you.  It's 
a  new  way  in  this  country."  Then,  after  a  moment: 
"It  '11  do — by  golly!  it  '11  do!  Not  a  bit  more  costly,  and 
you  do  some  good  with  it.     Yes — it — will — do." 

' '  I  have  given  no  man  money  save  in  charity  and  for 
proper  service  done  openly,"  said  David,  a  little  severely. 

"Say — of  course.  And  that's  just  what  isn't  done 
here.  Everything  goes  to  him  who  hath,  and  from  him 
who  hath  not  is  taken  away  even  that  which  ne  hath. 
One  does  the  work  and  another  gets  paid — that's  the 
way  here.  But  you,  Mr.  Claridge,  you  clinch  with  the 
strong  man  at  the  top,  and,  down  below,  you've  got  as 
your  partners  the  poor  man,  whose  name  is  Legion.  If 
you  get  a  fall  out  of  the  man  at  the  top,  you're  solid  with 
the  Legion.  And  if  the  man  at  the  top  gets  up  again 
and  salaams  and  strokes  your  hand,  and  says,  '  Be  my 
brother,'  then  it's  a  full  Nile,  and  the  fig-tree  putteth 
forth  its  tender  branches,  and  the  date-palm  flourisheth, 
and  at  the  village  pond  the  Thanksgiving  turkey  gobbles 
and  is  glad.     Selah!" 

The  sunset-gun  boomed  out  from  the  citadel.  David 
turned  to  go,  and  Lacey  added: 

"I'm  waiting  for  a  pasha  who's  taking  toll  of  the 
officers  inside  there — Achmet  Pasha.  They  call  him  the 
Ropemaker  because  so  many  pass  through  his  hands  to 

57 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  Nile.  The  Old  Muslin  I  call  him  because  he's  so 
diaphanous.  Thinks  nobody  can  see  through  him,  and 
there's  nobody  that  can't.  If  you  stay  long  in  Egypt, 
you'll  find  that  Achmet  is  the  worst,  and  Nahoum, 
the  Armenian,  the  deepest  pasha  in  all  this  sickening 
land.  Achmet  is  cruel  as  a  tiger  to  any  one  that  stands 
in  his  way;  Nahoum,  the  whale,  only  opens  out  to  swallow 
now  and  then;  but  when  Nahoum  does  open  out,  down 
goes  Jonah,  and  never  comes  up  again.  He's  a  deep  one, 
and  a  great  artist,  is  Nahoum.  I'll  bet  a  dollar  you'll 
see  them  both  to-night  at  the  Palace — if  Kaid  doesn't 
throw  them  to  the  lions  for  their  dinner  before  yours  is 
served.  Here  one  shark  is  swallowed  by  another  bigger, 
till  at  last  the  only  and  original  sea  serpent  swallows 
'em  all." 

As  David  wound  his  way  down  the  hill,  Lacey  waved 
a  hand  after  him. 

"Well,  give  my  love  to  the  girls!"  he  said. 

58 


VI 

"hast  thou  never  killed  a  max?" 

"Claridge  EfTendi!" 

As  David  moved  forward,  his  mind  was  embarrassed 
by  many  impressions.  He  was  not  confused,  but  the 
glitter  and  splendor,  the  Oriental  gorgeousness  of  the 
picture  into  which  he  stepped,  excited  his  eye,  roused 
some  new  sense  in  him.  He  was  a  curious  figure  in  those 
surroundings.  The  consuls  and  agents  of  all  the  nations 
save  one  were  in  brilliant  uniform,  and  pashas,  generals, 
and  great  officials  were  splendid  in  gold  braid  and  lace, 
and  wore  flashing  orders  on  their  breasts.  David  had 
been  asked  for  half -past  eight  o'clock,  and  he  was  there 
on  the  instant;  yet  here  was  every  one  assembled,  the 
Prince  Pasha  included.  As  he  walked  up  the  room  he 
suddenly  realized  this  fact,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  thought 
he  had  made  a  mistake;  but  again  he  remembered  dis- 
tinctly that  the  letter  said  half-past  eight,  and  he  won- 
dered now  if  this  had  been  arranged  by  the  Prince — for 
what  purpose  ?  To  afford  amusement  to  the  assembled 
company?  He  drew  himself  up  with  dignity,  his  face 
became  graver.  He  had  come  in  a  Quaker  suit  of  black 
broadcloth,  with  gray  steel  buttons,  and  a  plain  white 
stock;  and  he  wore  his  broadbrimmed  hat — to  the  con- 
sternation of  the  British  Consul-General  and  the  Europe- 
ans present,  to  the  amazemenl  of  the  Turkish  and  native 
officials,  who  eyed  him  keenly.  They  themselves  wore 
red  tarbooshes,  as  did  the  Prince;   yet  all  of  them  knew 

59 


THE    WEAVERS 

that  the  European  custom  of  showing  respect  was  by 
doffing  the  hat.  The  Prince  Pasha  had  settled  that  with 
David,  however,  at  their  first  meeting,  when  David  had 
kept  on  his  hat  and  offered  Kaid  his  hand. 

Now,  with  amusement  in  his  eyes,  Prince  Kaid  watched 
David  coming  up  the  great  hall.  What  his  object  was  in 
summoning  David  for  an  hour  when  all  the  court  and  all 
the  official  Europeans  should  be  already  present,  remained 
to  be  seen.  As  David  entered,  Kaid  was  busy  receiving 
salaams  and  returning  greeting,  but  with  an  eye  to  the 
singularly  boyish  yet  gallant  figure  approaching.  By  the 
time  David  had  reached  the  group,  the  Prince  Pasha 
was  ready  to  receive  him. 

"Friend,  I  am  glad  to  welcome  thee,"  said  the  Ef- 
fendina,  sly  humor  lurking  at  the  corner  of  his  eye. 
Conscious  of  the  amazement  of  all  present,  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  David. 

"May  thy  coming  be  as  the  morning  dew,  friend,"  he 
added,  taking  David's  willing  hand. 

"And  thy  feet,  Kaid,  walk  in  goodly  paths,  by  the 
grace  of  God  the  compassionate  and  merciful." 

As  a  wind  unfelt  stirs  the  leaves  of  a  forest,  making  it 
rustle  delicately,  a  whisper  swept  through  the  room. 
Official  Egypt  was  dumfounded.  Many  had  heard  of 
David,  a  few  had  seen  him,  and  all  now  eyed  with  in- 
quisitive interest  one  who  defied  so  many  of  the  customs 
of  his  countrymen;  who  kept  on  his  hat;  who  used  a 
Mahommedan  salutation  like  a  true  believer;  whom  the 
Effendina  honored  —  and  presently  honored  in  an  un- 
usual degree  by  seating  him  at  table  opposite  himself, 
where  his  Chief  Chamberlain  was  used  to  sit. 

During  dinner  Kaid  addressed  his  conversation  again 
and  again  to  David,  asking  questions  put  to  disconcert 
the  consuls  and  other  official  folk  present,  confident  in 
the  naive  reply  which  would  be  returned.  For  there  was 
a  keen  truthfulness  in  the  young  man's  words,  which, 

60 


THE    WEAVERS 

however  suave  and  carefully  balanced,  however  gravely 
simple  and  tactful,  left  no  doubt  as  to  their  meaning. 
There  was  nothing  in  them  which  could  be  challenged, 
could  be  construed  into  active  criticism  of  men  or  things ; 
and  yet  much  he  said  was  horrifying.  It  made  Achmet 
Pasha  sit  up  aghast,  and  Nahoum  Pasha,  the  astute 
Armenian,  for  a  long  time  past  the  confidant  and  fa- 
vorite of  the  Prince  Pasha,  laugh  in  his  throat;  for,  if 
there  was  a  man  in  Egypt  who  enjoyed  the  thrust  of 
a  word  or  the  bite  of  a  phrase,  it  was  Nahoum.  Chris- 
tian though  he  was,  he  was,  nevertheless,  Oriental  to  his 
furthermost  corner,  and  had  the  culture  of  a  French 
savant.  He  had  also  the  primitive  view  of  life,  and  the 
morals  of  a  race  who,  in  the  clash  of  East  and  West,  set 
against  Western  character  and  directness  and  loyalty 
to  the  terms  of  a  bargain  the  demoralized  cunning 
of  the  desert  folk;  the  circuitous  tactics  of  those  who 
believed  that  no  man  spoke  the  truth  directly,  that 
it  must  ever  be  found  beneath  devious  and  misleading 
words,  to  be  tracked  like  a  panther,  as  an  antipodean 
bushman  once  said,  "through  the  sinuosities  of  the  un- 
derbrush." Nahoum  Pasha  had  also  a  rich  sense  of  grim 
humor.  Perhaps  that  was  why  he  had  lived  so  near  the 
person  of  the  Prince,  had  held  office  so  long.  There  were 
no  grand  viziers  in  Egypt ;  but  he  was  as  much  like  one 
as  possible,  and  he  had  one  uncommon  virtue,  he  was 
greatly  generous.  If  he  took  with  his  right  hand  he  gave 
with  his  left;  and  Mahommedan  as  well  as  Copt  and 
Armenian,  and  beggars  of  every  race  and  creed,  hung 
about  his  doors  each  morning  to  receive  the  food  and 
alms  he  gave  freely. 

After  one  of  David's  answers  to  Ka'id,  which  had  had 
the  effect  of  causing  his  Highness  to  turn  a  sharp  corner 
of  conversation  by  addressing  himself  to  the  French  Con- 
sul, Nahoum  said,  suavely: 

"And  so,  monsieur,  you  think  that  we  hold  life  lightly 

6i 


THE    WEAVERS 

in  the  East — that  it  is  a  characteristic  of  civilization  to 
make  life  more  sacred,  to  cherish  it  more  fondly?" 

He  was  sitting  beside  David,  and  though  he  asked  the 
question  casually,  and  with  apparent  intention  only  of 
keeping  talk  going,  there  was  a  lurking  inquisition  in  his 
eye.  He  had  seen  enough  to-night  to  make  him  sure 
that  Kaid  had  once  more  got  the  idea  of  making  an  Eu- 
ropean his  confidant  and  adviser;  to  introduce  to  his 
court  one  of  those  mad  Englishmen  who  cared  nothing 
for  gold — only  for  power;  who  loved  administration  for 
the  sake  of  administration  and  the  foolish  joy  of  labor. 
He  was  now  set  to  see  what  sort  of  match  this  intellect 
could  play,  when  faced  by  the  inherent  contradictions 
present  in  all  truths  or  the  solutions  of  all  problems. 

"It  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  that  which  lies  be- 
hind civilization,  as  thee  and  me  have  been  taught,"  an- 
swered David. 

Nahoum  was  quick  in  strategy,  but  he  was  unprepared 
for  David's  knowledge  that  he  was  an  Armenian  Chris- 
tian, and  he  had  looked  for  another  answer. 

But  he  kept  his  head  and  rose  to  the  occasion.  "Ah, 
it  is  high,  it  is  noble,  to  save  life— it  is  so  easy  to  destroy 
it,"  he  answered.  "I  saw  his  Highness  put  his  life  in 
danger  once  to  save  a  dog  from  drowning.  To  cherish 
the  lives  of  others,  and  to  be  careless  of  our  own;  to  give 
that  of  great  value  as  though  it  were  of  no  worth — is  it 
not  the  Great  Lesson?"  He  said  it  with  such  an  air  of 
sincerity,  with  such  dissimulation,  that,  for  the  moment, 
David  was  deceived.  There  was,  however,  on  the  face 
of  the  listening  Kaid  a  curious,  cynical  smile.  He  had 
heard  all,  and  he  knew  the  sardonic  meaning  behind 
Nahoum's  words. 

Fat  High  Pasha,  the  Chief  Chamberlain,  the  corrupt 
and  corruptible,  intervened.  "It  is  not  so  hard  to  be 
careless  when  care  would  be  useless,"  he  said,  with  a 
chuckle.      "When   the  khamsin  blows  the   dust-storms 

62 


THE    WEAVERS 

upon  the  caravan,  the  camel-driver  hath  no  care  for  his 
camels.  ' Malaishf  he  says,  and  buries  his  face  in  his 
yelek." 

"Life  is  beautiful  and  so  difficult — to  save,"  observed 
Nahoum,  in  a  tone  meant  to  tempt  David  on  one  hand, 
and  to  reach  the  ears  of  the  notorious  Achmet  Pasha, 
whose  extortions,  cruelties,  and  taxations  had  built  his 
master's  palaces,  bribed  his  harem,  given  him  money  to 
pay  the  interest  on  his  European  loans,  and  made  himself 
the  richest  man  in  Egypt,  whose  spies  were  everywhere, 
whose  shadow  was  across  every  man's  path.  Ka'id  might 
slay,  might  toss  a  pasha  or  a  slave  into  the  Nile  now  and 
then,  might  invite  a  bey  to  visit  him,  and  stroke  his 
beard  and  call  him  brother  and  put  diamond-dust  in  the 
coffee  he  drank,  so  that  he  died  before  two  suns  came 
and  went  again,  "of  inflammation  and  a  natural  death  "; 
but  he,  Achmet  Pasha,  was  the  dark  Inquisitor  who  tort- 
ured every  day,  for  whose  death  all  men  prayed,  and 
whom  some  would  have  slain,  but  that  another  worse 
than  himself  might  succeed  him. 

At  Nahoum's  words  the  dusky  brown  of  Achmet's  face 
turned  as  black  as  the  sudden  dilation  of  the  pupil  of  an 
eye  deepens  its  hue,  and  he  said  with  a  guttural  accent: 

"Every  man  hath  a  time  to  die." 

"But  not  his  own  time,"  answered  Nahoum  mali- 
ciously. 

"It  would  appear  that  in  Egypt  he  hath  not  always 
the  choice  of  the  fashion  or  the  time,"  remarked  David 
calmly.  He  had  read  the  malice  behind  their  words, 
and  there  had  flashed  into  his  own  mind  tales  told  him, 
with'  every  circumstance  of  accuracy,  of  deaths  within 
and  without  the  Palace.  Also  he  was  now  aware  that 
Nahoum  had  mocked  him.  He  was  concerned  to  make 
it  clear  that  he  was  not  wholly  beguiled. 

"Is  there,  then,  choice  of  fashion  or  time  in  England, 
effendi?"  asked  Nahoum,  with  assumed  innocence. 

63 


THE    WEAVERS 

"In  England  it  is  a  matter  between  the  Giver  and 
Taker  of  life  and  himself — save  where  murder  does  its 
work,"  said  David. 

"And  here  it  is  between  man  and  man — is  it  that  you 
would  say?"  asked  Nahoum. 

"There  seem  wider  privileges  here,"  answered  David 
dryly. 

"Accidents  will  happen,  privileges  or  no,"  rejoined 
Nahoum,  with  lowering  eyelids. 

The  Prince  intervened.  "Thy  own  faith  forbids  the 
sword,  forbids  war,  or — punishment." 

"The  Prophet  I  follow  was  called  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
friend,"  answered  David,  bowing  gravely  across  the 
table. 

"Didst  thou  never  kill  a  man?"  asked  Kaid,  with 
interest  in  his  eyes.  He  asked  the  question  as  a  man 
might  ask  another  if  he  had  never  visited  Paris. 

"By  the  goodness  of  God,  never,"  answered  David. 

"Neither  in  punishment  nor  in  battle?" 

"I  am  neither  judge  nor  soldier,  friend." 

" Inshallah — thou  hast  yet  far  to  go!  Thou  art  young 
yet.     Who  can  tell?" 

"I  have  never  so  far  to  go  as  that,  friend  Kaid,"  said 
David,  in  a  voice  that  rang  a  little. 

"To-morrow  is  no  man's  gift." 

David  was  about  to  answer,  but  chancing  to  raise  his 
eyes  above  the  Prince  Pasha's  head,  his  glance  was  ar- 
rested and  startled  by  seeing  a  face — the  face  of  a  woman 
— looking  out  of  a  panel  in  a  mooshrabieh  screen  in  a 
gallery  above.  He  would  not  have  dwelt  upon  the  inci- 
dent, he  would  have  set  it  down  to  the  curiosity  of  a 
woman  of  the  harem,  but  that  the  face  looking  out  was 
that  of  an  English  girl,  and  leering  over  her  shoulder 
was  the  dark,  handsome  face  of  an  Egyptian  or  a  Turk. 

Self-control  was  the  habit  of  his  life,  the  training  of  his 
faith,  and,  as  a  rule,  his  face  gave  little  evidence  of  inner 

64 


THE    WEAVERS 

excitement.  Demonstration  was  discouraged,  if  not  for- 
bidden, among  the  Quakers,  and  if,  to  others,  it  gave  a 
cold  and  austere  manner,  in  David  it  tempered  to  a  warm 
stillness  the  powerful  impulses  in  him,  the  rivers  of  feel- 
ing which  sometimes  roared  through  his  veins. 

Only  Nahoum  Pasha  had  noticed  his  arrested  look, 
so  motionless  did  he  sit;  and  now,  without  replying,  he 
bowed  gravely  and  deferentially  to  Kaid,  who  rose  from 
the  table.  He  followed  with  the  rest.  Presently  the 
Prince  sent  High  Pasha  to  ask  his  nearer  presence. 

The  Prince  made  a  motion  of  his  hand,  and  the  circle 
withdrew.     He  waved  David  to  a  seat. 

"To-morrow  thy  business  shall  be  settled,"  said  the 
Prince,  suavely,  "and  on  such  terms  as  will  not  startle. 
Death-tribute  is  no  new  thing  in  the  East.  It  is  fortu- 
nate for  thee  that  the  tribute  is  from  thy  hand  to  my 
hand,  and  not  through  many  others  to  mine." 

"I  am  conscious  I  have  been  treated  with  favor, 
friend,"  said  David.  "I  would  that  I  might  show  thee 
kindness.  Though  how  may  a  man  of  no  account  make 
return  to  a  great  prince  ?" 

"By  the  beard  of  my  father,  it  is  easily  done,  if  thy 
kindness  is  a  real  thing,  and  not  that  which  makes  me 
poorer  the  more  I  have  of  it — as  though  one  should  be 
given  a  herd  of  horses  which  must  not  be  sold  but  still 
must  be  fed." 

"I  have  given  thee  truth.  Is  not  truth  cheaper  than 
falsehood?" 

"It  is  the  most  expensive  thing  in  Egypt;  so  that  I 
despair  of  buying  thee.  Yet  I  would  buy  thee  to  remain 
here — here  at  my  court ;  here  by  my  hand  which  will  give 
thee  the  labor  thou  lovest,  and  will  defend  thee  if  defence 
be  needed.  Thou  hast  not  greed,  thou  hast  no  thirst  for 
honor,  yet  thou  hast  wisdom  beyond  thy  years.  Kaid 
has  never  besought  men,  but  he  beseeches  thee.  Once 
there  was  in  Egypt,  Joseph,  a  wise  youth,  who  served  a 

65. 


THE    WEAVERS 

Pharaoh,  and  was  his  chief  counsellor,  and  it  was  well 
with  the  land.  Thy  name  is  a  good  name;  well-being 
may  follow  thee.  The  ages  have  gone,  and  the  rest  of 
the  world  has  changed,  but  Egypt  is  the  same  Egypt, 
the  Nile  rises  and  falls,  and  the  old  lean  years  and  fat 
years  come  and  go.  Though  I  am  in  truth  a  Turk,  and 
those  who  serve  and  rob  me  here  are  Turks,  yet  the 
fellah  is  the  same  as  he  was  five  thousand  years  ago. 
What  Joseph  the  Israelite  did,  thou  canst  do;  for  I  am 
no  more  unjust  than  was  that  Rameses  whom  Joseph 
served.     Wilt  thou  stay  with  me?" 

David  looked  at  Kaid  as  though  he  would  read  in  his 
face  the  reply  that  he  must  make,  but  he  did  not  see  Kaid ; 
he  saw,  rather,  the  face  of  one  he  had  loved  more  than 
Jonathan  had  been  loved  by  the  young  shepherd-prince 
of  Israel.  In  his  ears  he  heard  the  voice  that  had  called 
him  in  his  sleep — the  voice  of  Benn  Claridge ;  and  at  the 
same  instant  there  flashed  into  his  mind  a  picture  of 
himself  fighting  outside  the  tavern  beyond  Hamley  and 
bidding  farewell  to  the  girl  at  the  cross-roads. 

"Friend,  I  cannot  answer  thee  now,"  he  said,  in  a 
troubled  voice. 

Kaid  rose.  "I  will  give  thee  an  hour  to  think  upon 
it.     Come  with  me."     He  stepped  forward. 

"To-morrow  I  will  answer  thee,  Kaid." 

"To-morrow  there  is  work  for  thee  to  do.  Come." 
David  followed  him. 

The  eyes  that  followed  the  Prince  and  the  Quaker 
were  not  friendly.  What  Kaid  had  long  foreshadowed 
seemed  at  hand:  the  coming  of  a  European  counsellor 
and  confidant.  They  realized  that  in  the  man  who 
had  just  left  the  room  with  Kaid  there  were  char- 
acteristics unlike  those  they  had  ever  met  before  in  Eu- 
ropeans. 

"A  madman,"  whispered  High  Pasha  to  Achmet  the 
Rope-maker. 

.66 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Then  his  will  be  the  fate  of  the  swine  of  Gadarene," 
said  Nahoum  Pasha,  who  had  heard. 

"At  least  one  need  not  argue  with  a  madman."  The 
face  of  Achmet  the  Rope-maker  was  not  more  pleasant 
than  his  dark  words. 

"It  is  not  the  madman  with  whom  you  have  to  deal, 
but  his  keeper,"  rejoined  Nahoum. 

Nahoum's  face  was  heavier  than  usual.  Going  to 
weight,  he  was  still  muscular  and  well  groomed.  His 
light-brown  beard  and  hair  and  blue  eyes  gave  him  a  look 
almost  Saxon,  and  bland  power  spoke  in  his  face  and  in 
every  gesture. 

He  was  seldom  without  the  string  of  beads  so  many 
Orientals  love  to  carry,  and,  Armenian  Christian  as  he 
was,  the  act  seemed  almost  religious.  It  was  to  him, 
however,  like  a  ground-wire  in  telegraphy — it  carried  off 
the  nervous  force  tingling  in  him  and  driving  him  to  im- 
pulsive action,  while  his  reputation  called  for  a  constant 
outward  urbanity,  a  philosophical  apathy.  He  had  had 
his  great  fight  for  place  and  power,  alien  as  he  was  in 
religion,  though  he  had  lived  in  Egypt  since  a  child. 
Bar  to  progress  as  his  religion  had  been  at  first,  it  had 
been  an  advantage  afterwards;  for,  through  it, he  could 
exclude  himself  from  complications  with  the  Wakfs,  the 
religious  court  of  the  Muslim  creed,  which  had  lands  to 
administer,  and  controlled  the  laws  of  marriage  and  in- 
heritance. He  could  shrug  his  shoulders  and  play  with 
his  beads,  and  urbanely  explain  his  own  helplessness  and 
ineligible  y  when  his  influence  was  summoned,  or  it  was 
sought  to  entangle  him  in  warring  interests.  Oriental 
through  and  through,  the  basis  of  his  creed  was  similar 
to  that  of  a  Muslim:  Mahomet  was  a  prophet  and  Christ 
a  prophet.  It  was  a  case  of  rival  prophets — all  else 
was  obscured  into  a  legend,  and  he  saw  the  strife  of  race 
in  the  difference  of  creed.  For  the  rest,  he  flourished 
the  salutations  and  language  of  the  Arab  as  though  they 

67 


THE    WEAVERS 

were  his  own,  and  he  spoke  Arabic  as  perfectly  as  he  did 
French  and  English. 

He  was  the  second  son  of  his  father.  The  first  son, 
who  was  but  a  year  older,  and  was  as  dark  as  he  was  fair, 
had  inherited — had  seized — all  his  father's  wealth.  He 
had  lived  abroad  for  some  years  in  France  and  England. 
In  the  latter  place  he  had  been  one  of  the  Turkish  Em- 
bassy, and,  being  a  Christian,  and  having  none  of  the 
outward  characteristics  of  the  Turk,  and  in  appearance 
more  of  a  Spaniard  than  an  Oriental,  he  had,  by  his  gifts, 
his  address  and  personal  appearance,  won  the  good-will 
of  the  Duchess  of  Middlesex,  and  had  had  that  success 
all  too  flattering  to  the  soul  of  a  libertine.  It  had, 
however,  been  the  means  of  his  premature  retirement 
from  England,  for  his  chief  at  the  Embassy  had  a  pref- 
erence for  an  Oriental  entourage.  He  was  called  Foor- 
gat  Bey. 

Sitting  at  table,  Nahoum  alone  of  all  present  had 
caught  David's  arrested  look,  and  glancing  up,  had  seen 
the  girl's  face  at  the  panel  of  mooshrabieh,  and  had  seen 
also  over  her  shoulder  the  face  of  his  brother,  Foorgat 
Bey.  He  had  been  even  more  astonished  than  David, 
and  far  more  disturbed.  He  knew  his  brother's  abilities; 
he  knew  his  insinuating  address — had  he  not  influenced 
their  father  to  give  him  wealth  while  he  was  yet  alive? 
He  was  aware  also  that  his  brother  had  visited  the  Palace 
often  of  late.  It  would  seem  as  though  the  Prince  Pasha 
was  ready  to  make  him,  as  well  as  David,  a  favorite. 
But  the  face  of  the  girl — it  was  an  English  face!  Familiar 
with  the  Palace,  and  bribing  when  it  was  necessary  to 
bribe,  Foorgat  Bey  had  evidently  brought  her  to  see  the 
function,  there  where  all  women  were  forbidden.  He 
could  little  imagine  Foorgat  Bey  doing  this  from  mere 
courtesy;  he  could  not  imagine  any  woman,  save  one 
wholly  sophisticated,  or  one  entirely  innocent,  trusting 
herself  with  him — and  in  such  a  place.     The  girl's  face, 

68 


THE    WEAVERS 

though  not  that  of  one  in  her  teens,  had  seemed  to  him 
a  very  flower  of  innocence. 

But,  as  he  stood  telling  his  beads,  abstractedly  listening 
to  the  scandal  talked  by  Achmet  and  High,  he  was  not 
thinking  of  his  brother,  but  of  the  two  who  had  just 
left  the  room.  He  was  speculating  as  to  which  room 
they  were  likely  to  enter.  They  had  not  gone  by  the 
door  convenient  to  passage  to  Kaid's  own  apartments. 
He  would  give  much  to  hear  the  conversation  between 
Kaid  and  the  stranger;  he  was  all  too  conscious  of  its 
purport.  As  he  stood  thinking,  Kaid  returned.  After 
looking  round  the  room  for  a  moment,  the  Prince  came 
slowly  over  to  Nahoum,  and,  stretching  out  a  hand, 
stroked  his  beard. 

"Oh,  brother  of  all  the  wise,  may  thy  sun  never  pass 
its  noon  I"  said  Kaid,  in  a  slow,  friendly  voice. 

Despite  his  will,  a  shudder  passed  through  Nahoum 
Pasha's  frame.  How  often  in  Egypt  this  gesture  and 
such  words  were  the  prelude  to  assassination,  from  which 
there  was  no  escape  save  by  death  itself.  Into  Na- 
houm's  mind  there  flashed  the  words  of  an  Arab  teacher, 
"There  is  no  refuge  from  God  but  God  Himself,"  and  he 
found  himself  blindly  wondering,  even  as  he  felt  Kaid's 
hand  upon  his  beard  and  listened  to  the  honeyed  words, 
what  manner  of  death  was  now  preparing  for  him,  and 
what  death  of  his  own  contriving  should  intervene. 
Escape,  he  knew,  there  was  none,  if  his  death  was  de- 
termined on;  for  spies  were  everywhere,  and  slaves  in 
the  pay  of  Kaid  were  everywhere,  and  such  as  were  not 
could  be  bought  or  compelled,  even  if  he  took  refuge  in 
the  house  of  a  foreign  consul.  The  lean,  invisible, 
ghastly  arm  of  death  could  find  him,  if  Kaid  willed, 
though  he  delved  in  the  bowels  of  the  Cairene  earth, 
or  climbed  to  an  eagle's  eyrie  in  the  Libyan  Hills. 
Whether  it  was  diamond-dust  or  Achmet's  thin  thong 
that  stopped  the  breath,  it  mattered  not;  it  was  sure. 

69 


THE    WEAVERS 

Yet  he  was  not  of  the  breed  to  tremble  under  the  de- 
scending sword,  and  he  had  long  accustomed  himself 
to  the  chance  of  "sudden  demise."  It  had  been  chief 
among  the  chances  he  had  taken  when  he  entered  the 
high  and  perilous  service  of  Kaid.  Now,  as  he  felt  the 
secret  joy  of  these  dark  spirits  surrounding  him — Ach- 
met,  and  High  Pasha,  who  kept  saying  beneath  his 
breath  in  thankfulness  that  it  was  not  his  turn,  Praise 
be  to  God! — as  he  felt  their  secret  self-gratulations,  and 
their  evil  joy  over  his  prospective  downfall,  he  settled 
himself  steadily,  made  a  low  salutation  to  Kaid,  and 
calmly  awaited  further  speech.     It  came  soon  enough. 

"It  is  written  upon  a  cucumber  leaf — does  not  the 
world  read  it? — -that  Nahoum  Pasha's  form  shall  cast  a 
longer  shadow  than  the  trees;  so  that  every  man  in 
Egypt  shall,  thinking  on  him,  be  as  covetous  as  Ashaah, 
who  knew  but  one  thing  more  covetous  than  himself — 
the  sheep  that  mistook  the  rainbow  for  a  rope  of  hay 
and,  jumping  for  it,  broke  his  neck." 

Kaid  laughed  softly  at  his  own  words.  With  his  eye 
meeting  Kaid's  again,  after  a  low  salaam,  Nahoum  made 
answer: 

"I  would  that  the  lance  of  my  fame  might  sheathe 
itself  in  the  breasts  of  thy  enemies,  Effendina." 

"Thy  tongue  does  that  office  well,"  was  the  reply. 
Once  more  Kaid  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  Nahoum's 
beard.  Then  with  a  gesture  towards  the  consuls  and 
the  Europeans,  he  said  to  them  in  French,  "If  I  might 
but  beg  your  presence  for  yet  a  little  time!"  Then  he 
turned  and  walked  away.  He  left  by  a  door  leading  to 
his  own  apartments. 

When  he  had  gone,  Nahoum  swung  slowly  round  and 
faced  the  agitated  groups. 

"He  who  sleeps  with  one  eye  open  sees  the  sun  rise 
first,"  he  said,  with  a  sarcastic  laugh.  "He  who  goes 
blindfold  never  sees  it  set." 

70 


THE    WEAVERS 

Then,  with  a  complacent  look  upon  them  all,  he  slowly- 
left  the  room  by  the  door  out  of  which  David  and  Kaid 
had  first  passed. 

Outside  the  room  his  face  did  not  change.  His  man- 
ner had  not  been  bravado.  It  was  as  natural  to  him  as 
David's  manner  was  to  himself.  Each  had  trained  him- 
self in  his  own  way  to  the  mastery  of  his  will,  and  the 
will  in  each  was  stronger  than  any  passion  of  emotion  in 
them.  So  far  at  least  it  had  been  so.  In  David  it  was 
the  outcome  of  his  faith,  in  Nahoum  it  was  the  outcome 
of  his  philosophy,  a  simple,  fearless  fatalism. 

David  had  been  left  by  Kaid  in  a  small  room,  little 
more  than  an  alcove,  next  to  a  larger  room  richly  fur- 
nished. Both  rooms  belonged  to  a  spacious  suite  which 
lay  between  the  harem  and  the  major  portion  of  the 
Palace.  It  had  its  own  entrance  and  exits  from  the 
Palace,  opening  on  the  square  at  the  front,  at  the  back 
opening  on  its  own  garden,  which  also  had  its  own  exits 
to  the  public  road.  The  quarters  of  the  Chief  Eunuch 
separated  the  suite  from  the  harem,  and  Mizraim,  the 
present  Chief  Eunuch,  was  a  man  of  power  in  the  Palace, 
knew  more  secrets,  was  more  courted,  and  was  richer  than 
some  of  the  princes.  Nahoum  had  an  office  in  the  Palace, 
also,  which  gave  him  the  freedom  of  the  place,and  brought, 
him  often  in  touch  with  the  Ch  ef  Eunuch.  He  had  made 
Mizraim  a  fast  friend  ever  since  the  day  he  had, by  an  able 
device,  saved  the  Chief  Eunuch  from  determined  robbery 
by  the  former  Prince  Pasha,  with  whom  he  had  suddenly 
come  out  of  favor. 

When  Nahoum  left  the  great  salon,  he  directed  his 
is  towards  the  quarters  of  the  Chief  Eunuch,  thinking 
of  David  with  a  vague  desire  for  pursuit  and  conflict.  He 
was  too  much  of  a  philosopher  to  seek  to  do  David  physical 
injury — a  futile  act;  for  it  could  do  him  no  good  in  the 
end,  could  not  mend  his  own  fortunes;  and,  merciless  as 
6  7 1 


THE    WEAVERS 

he  could  be  on  occasion,  he  had  no  love  of  bloodshed. 
Besides,  the  game  afoot  was  not  of  his  making,  and  he 
was  ready  to  await  the  finish,  the  more  so  because  he 
was  sure  that  to-morrow  would  bring  forth  momentous 
things.  There  was  a  crisis  in  the  Soudan,  there  was 
trouble  in  the  army,  there  was  dark  conspiracy  of  which 
he  knew  the  heart,  and  anything  might  happen  to-mor- 
row! He  had  yet  some  cards  to  play,  and  Achmet  and 
High — and  another  very  high  and  great — might  be  de- 
livered over  to  Kaid's  deadly  purposes  rather  than  him- 
self to  -  morrow.  What  he  knew,  Kaid  did  not  know. 
He  had  not  meant  to  act  yet;  but  new  facts  faced  him, 
and  he  must  make  one  struggle  for  his  life.  But  as  he 
went  towards  Mizraim's  quarters  he  saw  no  sure  escape 
from  the  stage  of  those  untoward  events  save  by  the  exit 
which  is  for  all  in  some  appointed  hour. 

He  was  not,  however,  more  perplexed  and  troubled 
than  David,  who,  in  the  little  room  where  he  had  been 
brought  and  left  alone  with  coffee  and  cigarettes,  served 
by  a  slave  from  some  distant  portion  of  the  Palace,  sat 
facing  his  future. 

David  looked  round  the  little  room.  Upon  the  walls  hung 
weapons  of  every  kind — from  a  polished  dagger  of  Toledo 
to  a  Damascus  blade,  suits  of  chain  armor,  long-handled, 
two-edged  Arab  swords,  pistols  which  had  been  used 
in  the  Syrian  wars  of  Ibrahim,  lances  which  had  been 
taken  from  the  Druses  at  Palmyra,  rude  battle-axes  from 
the  tribes  of  the  Soudan,  and  neboots  of  dom-wood  which 
had  done  service  aga  nst  Napoleon  at  Damietta.  The 
cushions  among  which  he  sat  had  come  from  Constanti- 
nople, the  rug  at  his  feet  from  Tiflis,  the  prayer-rug  on 
the  wall  from  Mecca. 

All  that  he  saw  was  as  unlike  what  he  had  known  in 
past  years  as  though  he  had  come  to  Mars  or  Jupiter. 
All  that  he  had  heard  recalled  to  him  his  first  readings 

72 


THE    WEAVERS 

in  the  Old  Testament — the  story  of  Nebuchadnezzar, 
of  Belshazzar,  of  Ahasuerus — of  Ahasuerus!  He  sud- 
denly remembered  the  face  he  had  seen  looking  down 
at  the  Prince's  table  from  the  panel  of  mooshrabieh. 
That  English  face — where  was  it  ?  Why  was  it  there  ? 
Who  was  the  man  with  her?  Whose  the  dark  face 
peering  scornfully  over  her  shoulder?  The  face  of 
an  English  girl  in  that  place  dedicated  to  sombre  in- 
trigue, to  the  dark  effacement  of  women,  to  the  darker 
effacement  of  life,  as  he  well  knew,  all  too  often!  In 
looking  at  this  prospect  for  good  work  in  the  cause  of 
civilization,  he  was  not  deceived,  he  was  not  allured. 
He  knew  into  what  subterranean  ways  he  must  walk, 
through  what  mazes  of  treachery  and  falsehood  he  must 
find  his  way;  and  though  he  did  not  know  to  the  full 
the  corruption  which  it  was  his  duty  to  Kaid  to  turn  to 
incorruption,  he  knew  enough  to  give  his  spirit  pause. 
What  would  be — what  could  be — the  end?  Would  he 
not  prove  to  be  as  much  out  of  place  as  was  the  face  of 
that  English  girl!  The  English  girl!  England  rushed 
back  upon  him — the  love  of  those  at  home ;  of  his  father, 
the  only  father  he  had  ever  known;  of  Faith,  the  only 
mother  or  sister  he  had  ever  known;  of  old  Elder  Fair- 
ley;  the  love  of  the  woods  and  the  hills  where  he  had 
wandered  came  upon  him.  There  was  work  to  do  in 
England,  work  too  little  done — the  memory  of  the  great 
meeting  at  Heddington  flashed  upon  him.  Could  his 
labor  and  his  skill,  if  he  had  any,  not  be  used  there? 
Ah,  the  green  fields,  the  soft,  gray  skies,  the  quiet  vale, 
the  brave,  self-respecting,  toiling  millions,  the  beautiful 
sense  of  law  and  order  and  goodness!  Could  his  gifts 
and  labors  not  be  used  there  ?     Could  not — 

He  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  smothered  cry,  then  a 
call  of  distress.     It  was  the  voice  of  a  woman! 

He  started  up.  The  voice  seemed  to  come  from  a 
room  at  his  right;   not  that  from  which  he  had  entered, 

73 


THE    WEAVERS 

but  one  still  beyond  this  where  he  was.  He  sprang 
towards  the  wall  and  examined  it  swiftly.  Finding  a 
division  in  the  tapestry,  he  ran  his  fingers  quickly  and 
heavily  down  the  crack  between.  It  came  upon  the  but- 
ton of  a  spring.  He  pressed  it,  the  door  yielded,  and, 
throwing  it  back,  he  stepped  into  the  room — to  see  a 
woman  struggling  to  resist  the  embraces  and  kisses  of  a 
man.  The  face  was  that  of  the  girl  who  had  looked  out 
of  the  panel  in  the  mooshrabieh  screen.  Then  it  was 
beautiful  in  its  mirth  and  animation ;  now  it  was  pale  and 
terror-stricken,  as  with  one  free  hand  she  fiercely  beat 
the  face  pressed  to  hers. 

The  girl  only  had  seen  David  enter.  The  man  was  not 
conscious  of  his  presence  till  he  was  seized  and  flung 
against  the  wall.  The  violence  of  the  impact  brought 
down  at  his  feet  two  weapons  from  the  wall  above  him. 
He  seized  one — a  dagger — and  sprang  to  his  feet.  Be- 
fore he  could  move  forward  or  raise  his  arm,  however, 
David  struck  him  a  blow  in  the  neck  which  flung  him 
upon  a  square  marble  pedestal  intended  for  a  statue.  In 
falling  his  head  struck  violently  a  sharp  corner  of  the  ped- 
estal.    He  lurched,  rolled  over  on  the  floor,  and  lay  still. 

The  girl  gave  a  choking  cry.  David  quickly  stooped 
and  turned  the  body  over.  There  was  a  cut  where  the 
hair  met  the  temple.  He  opened  the  waistcoat  and 
thrust  his  hand  inside  the  shirt.  Then  he  felt  the  pulse 
of  the  limp  wrist. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  the  face  steadily,  almost 
contemplatively  it  might  have  seemed,  and  then  drew 
both  arms  close  to  the  body. 

Foorgat  Bey,  the  brother  of  Nahoum  Pasha,  was  dead. 

Rising,  David  turned,  as  if  in  a  dream,  to  the  girl. 
He  made  a  motion  of  the  hand  towards  the  body.  She 
understood.  Dismay  was  in  her  face,  but  the  look  of 
horror  and  desperation  was  gone.  She  seemed  not  to 
realize,  as  did  David,  the  awful  position  in  which  they 

74 


THE    WEAVERS 

were  placed,  the  deed  which  David  had  done,  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  thing  that  lay  at  their  feet. 

"Where  are  your  people?"  said  David.  "Come,  we 
will  go  to  them." 

"I  have  no  people  here,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"Who  brought  thee?" 

She  made  a  motion  behind  her  towards  the  body. 
David  glanced  down.  The  eyes  of  the  dead  man  were 
open.  He  stooped  and  closed  them  gently.  The  collar 
and  tie  were  disarranged;  he  straightened  them,  then 
turned  again  to  her. 

"I  must  take  thee  away,"  he  said,  calmly.  "But 
it  must  be  secretly."     He  looked  around,  perplexed. 

"We  came  secretly.  My  maid  is  outside  the  garden 
— in  a  carriage.  Oh,  come,  let  us  go,  let  us  escape. 
They  will  kill  you — !"     Terror  came  into  her  face  again. 

"Thee,  not  me,  is  in  danger — name,  goodness,  future, 
all.  .  .  .  Which  way  did  thee  come?" 

"Here — through  many  rooms — "  She  made  a  gest- 
ure to  curtains  beyond.  "But  we  first  entered  through 
doors  with  sphinxes  on  cither  side,  with  a  room  where 
was  a  statue  of  Mehemet  AH." 

It  was  the  room  through  which  David  had  come  with 
Kaid.  He  took  her  hand.  "Come  quickly.  I  know 
the  way.  It  is  here,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  panel- 
door  by  which  he  had  entered. 

Holding  her  hand  still,  as  though  she  were  a  child,  he 
led  her  quickly  from  the  room,  and  shut  the  panel  be- 
hind them.  As  they  passed  through,  a  hand  drew  aside 
the  curtains  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  which  they 
were  leaving. 

Presently  the  face  of  Nahoum  Pasha  followed  the 
hand.  A  swift  glance  to  the  floor,  then  he  ran  forward, 
stooped  down,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  brother's  breast. 
The  slight  wound  on  the  forehead  answered  his  rapid 
scrutiny.      He  realized  the  situation  as  plainly  as  if  if. 

75 


THE    WEAVERS 

had  been  written  down  for  him — he  knew  his  brother 
well. 

Noiselessly  he  moved  forward  and  touched  the  spring 
of  the  door  through  which  the  two  had  gone.  It  yielded, 
and  he  passed  through,  closed  the  door  again  and  stealth- 
ily listened,  then  stole  a  look  into  the  further  chamber. 
It  was  empty.  He  heard  the  outer  doors  close.  For  a 
moment  he  listened,  then  went  forward  and  passed 
through  into  the  hall.  Softly  turning  the  handle  of  the 
big  wooden  doors  which  faced  him,  he  opened  them  an 
inch  or  so,  and  listened.  He  could  hear  swiftly  retreat- 
ing footsteps.  Presently  he  heard  the  faint  noise  of  a 
gate  shutting.  He  nodded  his  head,  and  was  about  to 
close  the  doors  and  turn  away,  when  his  quick  ear  de- 
tected footsteps  again  in  the  garden.  Some  one — the 
man,  of  course — was  returning. 

"May  the  fire  burn  his  eyes  forever!  He  would  talk 
with  Kaid,  then  go  again  among  them  all,  and  so  pass  out 
unsuspected  and  safe.  For  who  but  I — who  but  I  could 
say  he  did  it?  And  I — what  is  my  proof?  Only  the 
words  which  I  speak." 

A  scornful,  fateful  smile  passed  over  his  face.  "'Hast 
thou  never  killed  a  man?'  said  Kaid.  'Never,'  said  he, 
'by  the  goodness  of  God,  never!'  The  voice  of  Him  of 
Galilee,  the  hand  of  Cain,  the  craft  of  Jael.  But  God  is 
with  the  patient." 

He  went  hastily  and  noiselessly — his  footfall  was  light 
for  so  heavy  a  man — through  the  large  room  to  the  far- 
ther side  from  that  by  which  David  and  Kaid  had  first 
entered.  Drawing  behind  a  clump  of  palms  near  a 
door  opening  to  a  passage  leading  to  Mizraim's  quarters, 
he  waited.  He  saw  David  enter  quickly,  yet  without 
any  air  of  secrecy,  and  pass  into  the  little  room  where 
Kaid  had  left  him. 

For  a  long  time  there  was  silence. 

The  reasons  were  clear  in  Nahoum's  mind  why  he 

76 


THE    WEAVERS 

should  not  act  yet.  A  new  factor  had  changed  the  equa- 
tion which  had  presented  itself  a  short  half-hour  ago. 

A  new  factor  had  also  entered  into  the  equation  which 
had  been  presented  to  David  by  Ka'id  with  so  nattering 
an  insistence.  He  sat  in  the  place  where  Kaid  had 
left  him,  his  face  drawn  and  white,  his  eyes  burning,  but 
with  no  other  sign  of  agitation.  He  was  frozen  and  still. 
His  look  was  fastened  now  upon  the  door  by  which  the 
Prince  Pasha  would  enter,  now  upon  the  door  through 
which  he  had  passed  to  the  rescue  of  the  English  girl, 
whom  he  had  seen  drive  off  safely  with  her  maid.  In 
their  swift  passage  from  the  Palace  to  the  carriage,  a 
thing  had  been  done  of  even  greater  moment  than  the 
killing  of  the  sensualist  in  the  next  room.  In  the  jour- 
ney to  the  gateway  the  girl  David  served  had  begged 
him  to  escape  with  her.  This  he  had  almost  sharply  de- 
clined; it  would  be  no  escape,  he  had  said.  She  had 
urged  that  no  one  knew.  He  had  replied  that  Kaid 
would  come  again  for  him,  and  suspicion  would  be  roused 
if  he  were  gone. 

"Thee  has  safety,"  he  had  said.  "I  will  go  back.  I 
will  say  that  I  killed  him.  I  have  taken  a  life,  I  will  pay 
for  it  as  is  the  law." 

Excited  as  she  was,  she  had  seen  the  inflexibility  of 
his  purpose.  She  had  seen  the  issue  also  clearly.  He 
would  give  himself  up,  and  the  whole  story  would  be  the 
scandal  of  Europe. 

"You  have  no  right  to  save  me  only  to  kill  me,"  she 
had  said,  desperately.  "You  would  give  your  life,  but 
you  would  destroy  that  which  is  more  than  life  to  me. 
You  did  not  intend  to  kill  him.  It  was  no  murder,  it 
was  punishment."  Her  voice  had  got  harder.  "lie 
would  have  killed  my  life  because  he  was  evil.  Will  you 
kill  it  because  you  are  good?  Will  you  be  brave,  Quix- 
otic, but  not  pitiful.  .  .  .  No,  no,  no,"  she  had  said,  as 
his  hand  was  upon  the  gate,  "I  will  not  go  unless  you 

77 


THE    WEAVERS 

promise  that  you  will  hide  the  truth,  if  you  can."  She 
had  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  with  an  agonized 
impulse.  "You  will  hide  it  for  a  girl  who  will  bless 
your  memory  her  whole  life  long.     Ah — God  bless  you!" 

She  had  felt  that  she  conquered  before  he  spoke — as, 
indeed,  he  did  not  speak,  but  nodded  his  head  and  mur- 
mured something  indistinctly.  But  that  did  not  matter, 
for  she  had  won;  she  had  a  feeling  that  all  would  be  well. 
Then  he  had  placed  her  in  her  carriage,  and  she  was 
driven  swiftly  away,  saying  to  herself  half  hysterically, 
"  I  am  safe,  I  am  safe.     He  will  keep  his  word!" 

Her  safety  and  his  promise  were  the  new  factor  which 
changed  the  equation  for  which  Kaid  would  presently 
ask  the  satisfaction.  David's  life  had  suddenly  come 
upon  problems  for  which  his  whole  past  was  no  prepara- 
tion. Conscience,  which  had  been  his  guide  in  every 
situation,  was  now  disarmed,  disabled,  and  routed.  It 
had  come  to  terms. 

In  going  quickly  through  the  room,  they  had  disar- 
ranged a  table.  The  girl's  cloak  had  swept  over  it, 
and  a  piece  of  bric-a-brac  had  been  thrown  upon  the 
floor.  He  got  up  and  replaced  it  with  an  attentive  air. 
He  rearranged  the  other  pieces  on  the  table  mechani- 
cally, seeing,  feeling,  another  scene,  another  inanimate 
thing  which  must  be  forever  and  forever  a  picture  burn- 
ing in  his  memory.  Yet  he  appeared  to  be  casually 
doing  a  trivial  and  necessary  act.  He  did  not  definitely 
realize  his  actions;  but  long  afterwards  he  could  have 
drawn  an  accurate  plan  of  the  table,  could  have  repro- 
duced upon  it  each  article  in  its  exact  place  as  correctly 
as  though  it  had  been  photographed.  There  were  one 
or  two  spots  of  dust  or  dirt  on  the  floor,  brought  in  by 
his  boots  from  the  garden.  He  nicked  them  aside  with 
his  handkerchief. 

How  still  it  was !  Or  was  it  his  life  which  had  become 
so  still?     It  seemed  as  if  the  world  must  be  noiseless, 

78 


THE    WEAVERS 

for  not  a  sound  of  the  life  in  other  parts  of  the  Palace 
came  to  him,  not  an  echo  or  vibration  of  the  city  which 
stirred  beyond  the  great  gateway.  Was  it  the  chilly  hand 
of  death  passing  over  everything  and  smothering  all  the 
activities?  His  pulses,  which,  but  a  few  minutes  past, 
were  throbbing  and  pounding  like  drums  in  his  ears, 
seemed  now  to  flow  and  beat  in  very  quiet.  Was  this, 
then,  the  way  that  murderers  felt,  that  men  felt  who  took 
human  life — so  frozen,  so  little  a  part  of  their  surround- 
ings ?  Did  they  move  as  dead  men  among  the  living,  de- 
vitalized, vacuous,  calm  ? 

His  life  had  been  suddenly  twisted  out  of  recognition. 
All  that  his  habit,  his  code,  his  morals,  his  religion  had 
imposed  upon  him  had  been  overturned  in  one  moment. 
To  take  a  human  life,  even  in  battle,  was  against  the  code 
by  which  he  had  ever  been  governed,  yet  he  had  taken 
life  secretly;  and  was  hiding  it  from  the  world. 

Accident  ?  Had  it  been  necessary  to  strike  at  all  ? 
His  presence  alone  would  have  been  enough  to  save  the 
girl  from  further  molestation;  but  he  had  thrown  him- 
self upon  the  man  like  a  tiger!  Yet  somehow  he  felt  no 
sorrow  for  that.  He  knew  that  if  again  and  yet  again 
he  were  placed  in  the  same  position  he  would  do  even  as 
he  had  done — even  as  he  had  done  with  the  man  Kim- 
ber  by  the  Fox  and  Goose  tavern  beyond  Hamley.  He 
knew  that  the  blow  he  had  given  then  was  inevitable, 
and  he  had  never  felt  real  repentance.  Thinking  of 
that  blow,  he  saw  its  sequel  in  the  blow  he  had  given 
now.  Thus  was  that  day  linked  with  the  present, 
thus  had  a  blow  struck  in  punishment  of  the  wrong 
done  the  woman  at  the  cross  -  roads  been  repeated  in 
the  wrong  done  the  girl  who  had  just  left  him. 

A  sound  now  broke  the  stillness.  It  was  a  door 
shutting  not  far  off.  Kaid  was  coming.  David  turned 
his  face  towards  the  room  where  Foorgat  Bey  was  lying 
dead.     He   lifted    his   arms   with   a   sudden   passionate 

79 


THE    WEAVERS 

gesture.  The  blood  came  rushing  through  his  veins 
again.  His  life,  which  had  seemed  suspended,  was  set 
free;  and  an  exaltation  of  sorrow,  of  pain,  of  action,  pos- 
sessed him. 

"I  have  taken  a  life,  0  my  God!"  he  murmured. 
"Accept  mine  in  service  for  this  land.  What  I  have 
done  in  secret,  let  me  atone  for  in  secret,  for  this  land — 
for  this  poor  land,  for  Christ's  sake!" 

Footsteps  were  approaching  quickly.  With  a  great 
effort  of  the  will  he  ruled  himself  to  quietness  again. 
Kaid  entered,  and  stood  before  him  in  silence.  David 
rose.     He  looked  Kaid  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"Well?"  said  Kaid  placidly. 

"I  will  serve  thee  for  Egypt's  sake,"  was  the  reply. 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Kaid  took  it,  but  said,  in 
smiling  comment  on  the  action,  "As  the  Viceroy's  ser- 
vant, there  is  another  way!" 

"I  will  salaam  to-morrow,  Kaid,"  answered  David. 

"It  is  the  only  custom  of  the  place  I  will  require  of 
thee,  effendi.     Come." 

A  few  moments  later  they  were  standing  among  the 
consuls  and  officials  in  the  salon. 

"Where  is  Nahoum?"  asked  Kaid,  looking  round  on 
the  agitated  throng. 

No  one  answered.  Smiling,  Kaid  whispered  in  David's 
ear. 


VII 

THE     COMPACT 

One  by  one  the  lights  went  out  in  the  Palace.  The 
excited  guests  were  now  knocking  at  the  doors  of  Cairene 
notables,  bent  upon  gossip  of  the  night's  events,  or  were 
scouring  the  bazaars  for  ears  into  which  to  pour  the  tale  of 
how  David  was  exalted  and  Nahoum  was  brought  low; 
how,  before  them  all,  Ka'id  had  commanded  Nahoum  to 
appear  at  the  Palace  in  the  morning  at  eleven,  and  the 
Ingle  si,  as  they  had  named  David,  at  ten.  But  they 
declared  to  all  who  crowded  upon  their  words  that  the 
Inglesi  left  the  Palace  with  a  face  frozen  white,  as  though 
it  was  he  that  had  met  deb&cle,  while  Nahoum  had  been 
as  urbane  and  cynical  as  though  he  had  come  to  the 
fulness  of  his  power. 

Some,  on  hearing  this,  said,  "Beware  Nahoum!"  But 
those  who  had  been  at  the  Palace  said,  "Beware  the 
[nglesi!"  This  still  Quaker,  with  the  white,  shining  face 
and  pontifical  hat,  with  his  address  of  "thee"  and 
"thou,"  and  his  forms  of  speech  almost  Oriental  in  their 
imagery  and  simplicity,  himself  an  archaism,  had  im- 
pressed them  with  a  sense  of  power.  He  had  prompted 
old  Diaz  Pasha  to  speak  of  him  as  a  reincarnation,  so 
separate  and  withdrawn  he  seemed  at  the  end  of  the 
evening,  yet  with  an  uncanny  mastery  in  his  dark-brown 
eyes.  One  of  the  Ulema,  or  holy  men,  present  had  said 
in  reply  to  Diaz,  "It  is  the  look  of  one  who  hath  walked 
with  Death  and  bought  and  sold  with  Sheitan  the  ac- 

81 


THE    WEAVERS 

cursed."  To  Nahoum  Pasha,  Diaz  had  said,  as  the 
former  left  the  Palace,  a  cigarette  between  his  fingers: 
"Sleep  not  nor  slumber,  Nahoum.  The  world  was  never 
lost  by  one  earthquake."  And  Nahoum  had  replied 
with  a  smooth  friendliness,  "The  world  is  not  reaped 
in  one  harvest." 

"The  day  is  at  hand — the  East  against  the  West," 
murmured  old  Diaz,  as  he  passed  on. 

"The  day  is  far  spent,"  answered  Nahoum,  in  a  voice 
unheard  by  Diaz;  and,  with  a  word  to  his  coachman, 
who  drove  off  quickly,  he  disappeared  in  the  shrubbery. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  tapping  at  the  door  of 
Mizraim,  the  Chief  Eunuch.  Three  times  he  tapped  in 
the  same  way.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and  he  step- 
ped inside.  The  lean,  dark  figure  of  Mizraim  bowed  low; 
the  long,  slow  fingers  touched  the  forehead,  the  breast, 
and  the  lips. 

"May  God  preserve  thy  head  from  harm,  excellency, 
and  the  night  give  thee  sleep,"  said  Mizraim.  He  looked 
inquiringly  at  Nahoum. 

"May  thy  head  know  neither  heat  nor  cold,  and  thy 
joys  increase,"  responded  Nahoum  mechanically,  and  sat 
down. 

To  a  European  it  would  have  seemed  a  shameless 
mockery  to  have  wished  joy  to  this  lean,  hateful  dweller 
in  the  between-worlds ;  to  Nahoum  it  was  part  of  a  life 
which  was  all  ritual  and  intrigue,  gabbling  superstition 
and  innate  fatalism,  decorated  falsehood  and  a  brave 
philosophy. 

"I  have  work  for  thee  at  last,  Mizraim,"  said  Nahoum. 

"At  last?" 

"Thou  hast  but  played  before.  To-night  I  must  see 
the  sweat  of  thy  brow." 

Mizraim' s  cold  fingers  again  threw  themselves  against 
his  breast,  forehead,  and  lips,  and  he  said: 

"As  a  woman  swims  in  a  fountain,  so  shall  I  bathe  in 

82 


THE    WEAVERS 

sweat  for  thee,  who  hath  given  with  one  hand  and  hath 
never  taken  with  the  other." 

"I  did  thee  service  once,  Mizraim — eh?" 

"I  was  as  a  bird  buffeted  by  the  wind;  upon  thy  masts 
my  feet  found  rest.  Behold,  I  build  my  nest  in  thy  sails, 
excellency." 

"There  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nest,  Mizraim,  thou 
dove,"  said  Nahoum,  with  a  cynical  smile. 

"When  I  build,  I  build.  Where  I  swear  by  the  stone 
of  the  corner,  there  am  I  from  dark  to  dark  and  from 
dawn  to  dawn,  pasha."  Suddenly  he  swept  his  hand  low 
to  the  ground  and  a  ghastly  sort  of  smile  crossed  over 
his  face.  "Speak — I  am  thy  servant.  Shall  I  not  hear? 
I  will  put  my  hand  in  the  entrails  of  Egypt,  and  wrench 
them  forth  for  thee." 

He  made  a  gesture  so  cruelly,  so  darkly  suggestive 
that  Nahoum  turned  his  head  away.  There  flashed 
before  his  mind  the  scene  of  death  in  which  his  own 
father  had  lain,  butchered  like  a  beast  in  the  sham- 
bles, a  victim  to  the  rage  of  Ibrahim  Pasha,  the  son  of 
Mehemet  AH. 

'Then  listen,  and  learn  why  I  have  need  of  thee  to- 
night." 

First,  Nahoum  told  the  story  of  David's  coming,  and 
Kaid's  treatment  of  himself,  the  foreshadowing  of  his 
own  doom.  Then  of  David  and  the  girl,  and  the  dead 
body  he  had  seen;    of  the  i  of  the  girl,  of  David's 

return  with  Kaid — all  exactly  as  it  had  happened,  save 
that  he  did  not  mention  the  name  of  the  dead  man. 

It  did  not  astonish  Mizraim  that  Nahoum  had  kept  all 
this  secret.  That  crime  should  be  followed  by  secrecy  and 
further  crime,  if  need  be,  seems  natural  to  the  Oriental 
mind.  Mizraim  had  seen  removal  follow  upon  removal, 
and  the  dark  Nile  flowed  on  gloomily,  silently,  faithful 
to  the  helpless  ones  tossed  into  its  bosom.  It  would 
much  have  astonished  him  if  Nahoum  had  not  shown  a 

83 


THE    WEAVERS 

gaping  darkness  somewhere  in  his  tale,  and  he  felt  for 
the  key  to  the  mystery. 

"And  he  who  lies  dead,  excellency?" 

"My  brother." 

"Foorgat  Bey!" 

"Even  he,  Mizraim.  He  lured  the  girl  here — a  mad- 
man ever.  The  other  madman  was  in  the  next  room. 
He  struck — come,  and  thou  shalt  see." 

Together  they  felt  their  way  through  the  passages  and 
rooms,  and  presently  entered  the  room  where  Foorgat 
Bey  was  lying.  Nahoum  struck  a  light,  and,  as  he  held 
the  candle,  Mizraim  knelt  and  examined  the  body  closely. 
He  found  the  slight  wound  on  the  temple,  then  took  the 
candle  from  Nahoum  and  held  it  close  to  the  corner  of 
the  marble  pedestal.  A  faint  stain  of  blood  was  there. 
Again  he  examined  the  body,  and  ran  his  fingers  over 
the  face  and  neck.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  held  the 
light  close  to  the  skin  beneath  the  right  jaw.  He  mo- 
tioned, and  Nahoum  laid  his  fingers  also  on  the  spot. 
There  was  a  slight  swelling. 

"A  blow  with  the  fist,  excellency — skilful,  and  English." 
He  looked  inquiringly  at  Nahoum.  "As  a  weasel  hath  a 
rabbit  by  the  throat,  so  is  the  Inglesi  in  thy  hands." 

Nahoum  shook  his  head.  "And  if  I  went  to  Kaid, 
and  said,  'This  is  the  work  of  the  Inglesi,'  would  he 
believe?  Kaid  would  hang  me  for  the  lie — would  it  be 
truth  to  him?  What  proof  have  I,  save  the  testimony 
of  mine  own  eyes?  Egypt  would  laugh  at  that.  Is 
it  the  time,  while  yet  the  singers  are  beneath  the  win- 
dows, to  assail  the  bride?  All  bridegrooms  are  mad. 
It  is  all  sunshine  and  morning  with  the  favorite,  the 
Inglesi.  Only  when  the  shadows  lengthen  may  he  be 
stricken.     Not  now." 

'Why  dost  thou  hide  this  from  Kaid,  O  thou  brother 
of  the  eagle?" 

"For   my  gain    and   thine,  keeper  of  the  gate.     To- 

84 


THE    WEAVERS 

night  I  am  weak,  because  I  am  poor.  To-morrow  I  shall 
be  rich — and,  it  may  be,  strong.  If  Ka'id  knew  of  this 
to-night,  I  should  be  a  prisoner  before  cockcrow.  What 
claims  has  a  prisoner?  Kaid  would  be  in  my  brother's 
house  at  dawn  seizing  all  that  is  there  and  elsewhere,  and 
I  on  my  way  to  Fazougli,  to  be  strangled  or  drowned." 

"0  wise  and  far-seeing!  Thine  eye  pierces  the  earth. 
What  is  there  to  do?     What  is  my  gain — what  thine?" 

"Thy  gain?     The  payment  of  thy  debt  to  me." 

Mizraim's  face  lengthened.  His  was  a  loathsome  sort 
of  gratitude.  He  was  willing  to  pay  in  kind;  but  what 
Oriental  ever  paid  a  debt  without  a  gift  in  return,  even 
as  a  bartering  Irishman  demands  his  lucky  penny. 

"So  be  it,  Excellency,  and  my  life  is  thine  to  spill 
upon  the  ground,  a  scarlet  cloth  for  thy  feet.  And 
backsheesh?" 

Nahoum  smiled  grimly.  "For  backsheesh,  thy  tur- 
ban full  of  gold." 

Mizraim's  eyes  glittered — the  dull  black  shine  of  a 
mongrel  terrier's.  He  caught  the  sleeve  of  Nahoum's 
coat  and  kissed  it,  then  kissed  his  hand. 

Thus  was  their  bargain  made  over  the  dead  body; 
and  Mizraim  had  an  almost  superstitious  reverence  for 
the  fulfilment  of  a  bond,  the  one  virtue  rarely  found  in 
the  Oriental.  Nothing  else  had  he,  but  of  all  men  in 
Egypt  he  was  the  best  instrument  Nahoum  could  have 
chosen;  and  of  all  men  in  Egypt  he  was  the  one  man 
who  could  surely  help  him. 

"  What  is  there  now  to  do,  excellency?" 

"My  coachman  is  with  the  carriage  at  the  gate  by 
which  the  English  girl  left.  It  is  open  still.  The  key 
is  in  Foorgat's  pocket,  no  doubt;  stolen  by  him,  no  doubt 
also.  .  .  .  This  is  my  design.  Thou  wilt  drive  him"  —he 
pointed  to  the  body — "to  his  palace,  seated  in  the  car- 
riage as  though  he  were  alive.  There  is  a  secret  en- 
trance.     The  bowdb  at  the  gate  will  show  the  way;  I 

85 


THE    WEAVERS 

know  it  not.  But  who  will  deny  thee?  Thou  comest 
from  high  places — from  Kaid.  Who  will  speak  of  this? 
Will  the  bowab  ?  In  the  morning  Foorgat  will  be  found 
dead  in  his  bed!  The  slight  bruise  thou  canst  heal — 
thou  canst?" 

Mizraim  nodded.  "I  can  smooth  it  from  the  sharpest 
eye." 

"At  dawn  he  will  be  found  dead;  but  at  dawn  I 
shall  be  knocking  at  his  gates.  Before  the  world 
knows  I  shall  be  in  possession.  All  that  is  his  shall  be 
mine,  for  at  once  the  men  of  law  shall  be  summoned, 
and  my  inheritance  secured  before  Kaid  shall  even  know 
of  his  death.     I  shall  take  my  chances  for  my  life." 

"And  the  coachman,  and  the  bowab,  and  others  it 
may  be?" 

"Shall  not  these  be  with  thee — thou,  Raid's  keeper 
of  the  harem,  the  lion  at  the  door  of  his  garden  of 
women  ?  Would  it  be  strange  that  Foorgat,  who  ever  flew 
at  fruit  above  his  head,  perilous  to  get  or  keep,  should  be 
found  on  forbidden  ground,  or  in  design  upon  it  ?  Would 
it  be  strange  to  the  bowab  or  the  slave  that  he  should 
return  with  thee  stark  and  still?  They  would  not  but 
count  it  mercy  of  Kaid  that  he  was  not  given  to  the  ser- 
pents of  the  Nile  ?  A  word  from  thee — would  one  open 
his  mouth?  Would  not  the  shadow  of  thy  hand,  of  the 
swift  doom,  be  over  them  ?  Would  not  a  handful  of  gold 
bind  them  to  me  ?  Is  not  the  man  dead  ?  Are  they  not 
mine — mine  to  bind  or  break  as  I  will?" 

"So  be  it!  Wisdom  is  of  thee  as  the  breath  of  man  is 
his  life.     I  will  drive  Foorgat  Bey  to  his  home." 

A  few  moments  later  all  that  was  left  of  Foorgat  Bey 
was  sitting  in  his  carriage  beside  Mizraim,  the  Chief 
Eunuch — sitting  upright,  stony,  and  still,  and  in  such 
wise  was  driven  swiftly  to  his  palace. 


VIII 

FOR    HIS    SOUL'S    SAKE    AND    THE    LAND'S    SAKE 

David  came  to  know  a  startling  piece  of  news  the 
next  morning — that  Foorgat  Bey  had  died  of  heart- 
disease  in  his  bed,  and  was  so  found  by  his  servants. 
He  at  once  surmised  that  Foorgat's  body  had  been  car- 
ried out  of  the  Palace;  no  doubt,  that  it  might  not 
be  thought  he  had  come  to  his  death  by  command  of 
Kaid.  His  mind  became  easier.  Death,  murder,  crime, 
in  Egypt  was  not  a  nine  days'  wonder;  it  scarce  outlived 
one  day.  When  a  man  was  gone,  none  troubled.  The 
dead  man  was  in  the  bosom  of  Allah ;  then  why  should  the 
living  be  beset  or  troubled  ?  If  there  was  foul  play,  why 
make  things  worse  by  sending  another  life  after  the  life 
gone,  even  in  the  way  of  justice  ? 

The  girl  David  saved  had  told  him  her  own  name,  and 
had  given  him  the  name  of  the  hotel  at  which  she  was 
staying.  He  had  an  early  breakfast,  and  prepared  to 
go  to  her  hotel,  wishing  to  see  her  once  more.  There 
were  things  to  be  said  for  the  first  and  last  time  and  then 
'uried  forever.  She  must  leave  the  country  at  once. 
In  this  sick,  mad  land,  in  this  whirlpool  of  secret  murder 
and  conspiracy,  no  one  could  tell  what  plot  was  hatching, 
what  deeds  were  forward;  and  he  could  not  yet  be  sure 
that  no  one  save  himself  and  herself  knew  who  had  killed 
cgal  licy.  Her  perfect  safety  lay  in  instant  flight. 
1 1  was  his  duty  to  see  that  she  went — this  very  day. 
I  [e  would  go  and  see  li 

*  87 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  went  to  the  hotel.  There  he  learned  that,  with 
her  aunt,  she  had  left  that  morning  for  Alexandria  en 
route  to  England. 

He  approved  her  wisdom,  he  applauded  her  decision. 
Yet — yet,  somehow,  as  he  bent  his  footsteps  towards  his 
lodgings  again  he  had  a  sense  of  disappointment,  of  rev- 
elation. What  might  happen  to  him — evidently  that  had 
not  occurred  to  her.  How  could  she  know  but  that  his 
life  might  be  in  danger;  that,  after  all,  they  might  have 
been  seen  leaving  the  fatal  room?  Well,  she  had  gone, 
and  with  all  his  heart  he  was  glad  that  she  was  safe. 

His  judgment  upon  last  night's  event  was  not  colored 
by  a  single  direct  criticism  upon  the  girl.  But  he  could 
not  prevent  the  suggestion  suddenly  flashing  into  his 
mind,  that  she  had  thought  of  herself  first  and  last. 
Well,  she  had  gone;  and  he  was  here  to  face  the  future, 
unencumbered  by  aught  save  the  weight  of  his  own  con- 
science. 

Yet,  the  weight  of  his  conscience!  His  feet  were  still 
free; — -free  for  one  short  hour  before  he  went  to  Kaid; 
but  his  soul  was  in  chains.  As  he  turned  his  course  to 
the  Nile,  and  crossed  over  the  great  bridge,  there  went 
clanking  by  in  chains  a  hundred  conscripts,  torn  from 
their  homes  in  the  Fayoum,  bidding  farewell  forever  to 
their  friends,  receiving  their  last  offerings;  for  they  had 
no  hope  of  return.  He  looked  at  their  haggard  and 
dusty  faces,  at  their  excoriated  ankles,  and  his  eyes 
closed  in  pain.  All  they  felt  he  felt.  What  their  homes 
were  to  them,  these  fellaheen,  dragged  forth  to  defend 
their  country,  to  go  into  the  desert  and  waste  their  lives 
under  leaders  tyrannous,  cruel,  and  incompetent,  his 
old  open  life,  his  innocence,  his  integrity,  his  truthful- 
ness and  character,  were  to  him.  By  an  impulsive  act, 
by  a  rash  blow,  he  had  asserted  his  humanity;  but 
he  had  killed  his  fellow-man  in  anger.  He  knew  that 
as  that  fatal  blow  had  been  delivered,  there   was  no 

88 


THE    WEAVERS 

thought  of  punishment — it  was  blind  anger  and  hatred: 
it  was  the  ancient  virus  working  which  had  filled  the 
world  with  war,  and  armed  it  at  the  expense,  the  bitter 
and  oppressive  expense,  of  the  toilers  and  the  poor. 
The  taxes  for  wars  were  wrung  out  of  the  sons  of  labor 
and  sorrow.  These  poor  fellaheen  had  paid  taxes  on 
everything  they  possessed.  Taxes,  taxes,  nothing  but 
taxes  from  the  cradle!  Their  lands,  houses,  and  palm- 
trees  would  be  taxed  still,  when  they  would  reap  no 
more.  And  having  given  all  save  their  lives,  these  lives 
they  must  now  give  under  the  whip  and  the  chain  and 
the  sword. 

As  David  looked  at  them  in  their  single  blue  calico 
coverings,  in  which  they  had  lived  and  slept  —  shiver- 
ing in  the  cold  night  air  upon  the  bare  ground — these 
thoughts  came  to  him;  and  he  had  a  sudden  longing  to 
follow  them  and  put  the  chains  upon  his  own  arms  and 
legs,  and  go  forth  and  suffer  with  them,  and  fight  and 
die  ?  To  die  were  easy.  To  fight  ?  .  .  .  Was  it  then 
come  to  that?  He  was  no  longer  a  man  of  peace,  but 
a  man  of  the  sword;  no  longer  a  man  of  the  palm  and 
the  evangel,  but  a  man  of  blood  and  of  crime!  He 
shrank  back  out  of  the  glare  of  the  sun;  for  it  suddenly 
seemed  to  him  that  there  was  written  upon  his  fore- 
head, "  This  is  a  brother  of  Cain."  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  had  a  shrinking  from  the  light,  and  from  the 
sun  which  he  had  loved  like  a  Persian — had,  in  a  sense, 
unconsciously  worshipped. 

He  was  scarcely  aware  where  he  was.  He  had  wandered 
on  until  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  bridge  and  into  the 
great  groups  of  traffickers  who,  at  this  place,  made  a  mar- 
ket of  their  wares.  Here  sat  a  seller  of  sugar-cane,  there 
wandered,  clanking  his  brasses,  a  merchant  of  sweet  waters, 
there  shouted  a  cheap-jack  of  the  Nile  the  virtues  of  a 
knife  from  Sheffield.  Yonder  a  camel-driver  squatted 
and  counted  his  earnings;  and  a  sheep-dealer  haggled  wit  li 

89 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  owner  of  a  ghiassa  bound  for  the  sands  of  the  North. 
The  curious  came  about  him  and  looked  at  him,  but  he 
did  not  see  or  hear.  He  sat  upon  a  stone,  his  gaze  upon 
the  river,  following  with  his  eyes,  yet  without  consciously 
observing,  the  dark  riverine  population  whose  ways  are 
hidden,  who  know  only  the  law  of  the  river  and  spend 
their  lives  in  eluding  it — pirates  and  brigands  now,  and 
yet  again  the  peaceful  porters  of  commerce. 

To  his  mind  never  a  criminal  in  this  land  but  less  a 
criminal  than  he !  For  their  standard  was  a  standard  of 
might  the  only  right ;  but  he — his  whole  life  had  been  nur- 
tured in  an  atmosphere  of  right  and  justice,  had  been  a 
spiritual  demonstration  against  force.  He  was  without 
fear,  as  he  was  without  an  undue  love  of  life.  The  lay- 
ing down  of  his  life  had  never  been  presented  to  him; 
and  yet,  now  that  his  conscience  was  his  only  judge,  and 
it  condemned  him,  he  would  gladly  have  given  his  life 
to  pay  the  price  of  blood. 

That  was  impossible.  His  life  was  not  his  own  to 
give,  save  by  suicide;  and  that  would  be  the  unpardon- 
able insult  to  God  and  humanity.  He  had  given  his 
word  to  the  woman,  and  he  would  keep  it.  In  those 
brief  moments  she  must  have  suffered  more  than  most 
men  suffer  in  a  long  life.  Not  her  hand,  however,  but 
his,  had  committed  the  deed.  And  yet — a  sudden  wave 
of  pity  for  her  rushed  over  him,  because  the  conviction 
seized  him  that  she  would  also  in  her  heart  take  upon 
herself  the  burden  of  his  guilt,  as  though  it  were  her 
own.  He  had  seen  it  in  the  look  of  her  face  last  night. 
For  the  sake  of  her  future  it  was  her  duty  to  shield  her- 
self from  any  imputation  which  might  as  unjustly  as 
scandalously  arise,  if  the  facts  of  that  black  hour  ever 
became  known —  Ever  became  known  ?  The  thought 
that  there  might  be  some  human  eye  which  had  seen, 
which  knew,  sent  a  shiver  through  him. 

"I  would  give  my  life  a  thousand  times  rather  than 

9° 


THIS     LAND HIS     LIFE,    AND     HIS     LOVE,    AND    HIS     FAITH 


THE    WEAVERS 

that,"  he  said  aloud  to  the  swift-flowing  river.  His 
head  sank  on  his  breast.  His  lips  murmured  in 
prayer: 

"But  be  merciful  to  me,  Thou  just  judge  of  Israel, 
for  Thou  hast  made  me,  and  Thou  knowest  whereof  I  am 
made.  Here  will  I  dedicate  my  life  to  Thee  for  the 
land's  sake.  Not  for  my  soul's  sake,  O  my  God!  If 
it  be  Thy  will,  let  my  soul  be  cast  away;  but  for  the  soul 
of  him  whose  body  I  slew,  and  for  his  land,  let  my  life  be 
the  long  sacrifice." 

Dreams  he  had  had  the  night  before — terrible  dreams, 
which  he  could  never  forget;  dreams  of  a  fugitive  being 
hunted  through  the  world,  escaping  and  eluding,  only 
to  be  hemmed  in  once  more;  on  and  on,  till  he  grew  gray 
and  gaunt,  and  the  hunt  suddenly  ended  in  a  great 
morass,  into  which  he  plunged  with  the  howling  world 
behind  him.  The  gray,  dank  mists  came  down  on  him, 
his  footsteps  sank  deeper  and  deeper,  and  ever  the  cries, 
as  of  damned  spirits,  grew  in  his  ears.  Mocking  shapes 
flitted  past  him,  the  wings  of  obscene  birds  buffeted  him, 
the  morass  grew  up  about  him ;  and  now  it  was  all  a  red 
moving  mass  like  a  dead  sea  heaving  about  h'm.  With 
a  moan  of  agony  he  felt  the  dolorous  flood  above  his 
shoulders,  and  then  a  cry  pierced  the  gloom  and  the 
loathsome  misery,  and  a  voice  he  knew  called  to  him, 
"David,  David,  I  am  coming!"  and  he  had  awaked  with 
the  old  hallucination  of  his  uncle's  voice  calling  to  him 
in  the  dawn. 

It  came  to  him  now  as  he  sat  by  the  waterside,  and  he 
raised  his  face  to  the  sun  and  to  the  world.  The  idlers 
had  left  him  alone;  none  were  staring  at  him  now.  They 
were  all  intent  on  their  own  business,  each  man  laboring 
after  his  kind.  He  heard  the  voice  of  a  river-man  as  he 
toiled  at  a  rope  standing  on  the  corn  that  filled  his 
ghiassa  from  end  to  end,  from  keel  to  gunwale.  The 
man  was  singing  a  wild  chant  of  cheerful  labor,  the  soul 

9i 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  the  hard-smitten  of  the  earth  rising  above  the  rack  and 
burden  of  the  body: 


O,  the  garden  where  to-day  we  sow  and  to-morrow  we  reap! 

O,  the  sakkia  turning  by  the  garden  walls; 

O,  the  onion-field  and  the  date-tree  growing, 

And  my  hand  on  the  plough — by  the  blessing  of  God; 

Strength  of  my  soul,  O  my  brother,  all's  well!" 


The  meaning  of  the  song  got  into  his  heart.  He  pressed 
his  hand  to  his  breast  with  a  sudden  gesture.  It 
touched  something  hard.  It  was  his  flute.  Mechani- 
cally he  had  put  it  in  his  pocket  when  he  dressed  in  the 
morning.  He  took  it  out  and  looked  at  it  lovingly. 
Into  it  he  had  poured  his  soul  in  the  old  days — days, 
centuries  away,  it  seemed  now.  It  should  still  be  the 
link  with  the  old  life. 

He  rose  and  walked  towards  his  home  again.  The 
future  spread  clearly  before  him.  Rapine,  murder, 
tyranny,  oppression,  were  round  him  on  every  side,  and 
the  ruler  of  the  land  called  him  to  his  counsels.  Here  a 
great  duty  lay — -his  life  for  this  land,  his  life,  and  his 
love,  and  his  faith.  He  would  expiate  his  crime  and  his 
sin,  the  crime  of  homicide  for  which  he  alone  was  re- 
sponsible, the  sin  of  secrecy  for  which  he  and  another 
were  responsible.  And  that  other?  If  only  there  had 
been  but  one  word  of  understanding  between  them  be- 
fore she  left! 

At  the  door  of  his  house  stood  the  American  whom 
he  had  met  at  the  citadel  yesterday — it  seemed  a  hundred 
years  ago. 

"I've  got  a  letter  for  you,"  Lacey  said.  "The  lady's 
aunt  and  herself  are  cousins  of  mine  more  or  less  re- 
moved, and  originally  at  home  in  the  U.  S.  A.  a  genera- 
tion ago.  Her  mother  was  an  American.  She  didn't 
know  your  name — Miss  Hylda  Maryon,  I  mean.     I  told 

92 


THE    WEAVERS 

her,  but  there  wasn't  time  to  put  it  on."     He  handed 
over  the  unaddressed  envelope. 
David  opened  the  letter,  and  read: 

"I  have  seen  the  papers.  I  do  not  understand  what 
has  happened,  but  I  know  that  all  is  well.  If  it  were  not 
so,  I  would  not  go.  That  is  the  truth.  Grateful  I  am,  oh, 
believe  me!  So  grateful  that  I  do  not  yet  know  what  is 
the  return  which  I  must  make.  But  the  return  will  be 
made.  I  hear  of  what  has  come  to  you — how  easily  I 
might  have  destroyed  all!  My  thoughts  blind  me.  You 
are  great  and  good;  you  will  know  at  least  that  I  go  be- 
cause it  is  the  only  thing  to  do.  I  fly  from  the  storm  with 
a  broken  wing.  Take  now  my  promise  to  pay  what  I  owe 
in  the  hour  Fate  wills — or  in  the  hour  of  your  need.  You 
can  trust  him  who  brings  this  to  you;  he  is  a  distant 
cousin  of  my  own.  Do  not  judge  him  by  his  odd  and 
foolish  words.  They  hide  a  good  character,  and  he  has  a 
strong  nature.  He  wants  work  to  do.  Can  you  give  it? 
Farewell." 

David  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  a  strange  quietness 
about  his  heart. 

He  scarcely  realized  what  Lacey  was  saying.  "Great 
girl  that.  Troubled  about  something  in  England,  I  guess. 
Going  straight  back." 

David  thanked  him  for  the  letter.  Lacey  became 
red  in  the  face.     He  tried  to  say  something,  but  failed. 

"Thee  wishes  to  say  something  to  me,  friend?"  asked 
David. 

"I'm  full  up;  I  can't  speak.     But,  say — " 

' '  I  am  going  to  the  Palace  now.  Come  back  at  noon 
if  you  will." 

He  wrung  David's  hand  in  gratitude.  'You're  going 
to  do  it.  You're  going  to  do  it.  I  see  it.  It's  a  great 
game — like  Abe  Lincoln's.  Say,  let  me  black  your  boots 
while  you're  doing  it,  will  you?" 

David  pressed  his  hand. 

93 


IX 

THE    LETTER,    THE    NIGHT,    AND    THE    WOMAN 

"To-day  has  come  the  fulfilment  of  my  dream,  Faith. 
I  am  given  to  my  appointed  task ;  I  am  set  on  a  road  of 
life  in  which  there  is  no  looking  back.  My  dreams  of 
the  past  are  here  begun  in  very  truth  and  fact.  When, 
in  the  night,  I  heard  Uncle  Benn  calling,  when  in  the 
Meeting-house  voices  said,  'Come  away,  come  away, 
and  labor;  thou  art  idle,'  I  could  hear  my  heart  beat  in 
the  ardor  to  be  off.  Yet  I  knew  not  whither.  Now  I 
know. 

"Last  night  the  Prince  Pasha  called  me  to  his  Council, 
made  me  adviser,  confidant,  as  one  who  has  the  ear  of 
his  captain — after  he  had  come  to  terms  with  me  upon 
that  which  Uncle  Benn  left  of  land  and  gold.  Think  not 
that  he  tempted  me. 

"Last  night  I  saw  favorites  look  upon  me  with  hate 
because  of  Kaid's  favor,  though  the  great  hall  was  filled 
with  show  of  cheerful  splendor,  and  men  smiled  and 
feasted.  To-day  I  know  that  in  the  Palace  where  I  was 
summoned  to  my  first  duty  with  the  Prince,  every  step  I 
took  was  shadowed,  every  motion  recorded,  every  look 
or  word  noted  and  set  down.  I  have  no  fear  of  them. 
They  are  not  subtle  enough  for  the  unexpected  acts  of 
honesty  in  the  life  of  a  true  man.  Yet  I  do  not  wonder 
men  fail  to  keep  honest  in  the  midst  of  this  splendor, 
where  all  is  strife  as  to  who  shall  have  the  Prince's  favor; 
who  shall  enjoy  the  fruits  of  bribery,  backsheesh,  and 

94 


THE    WEAVERS 

monopoly;  who  shall  wring  from  the  slave  and  the  toil- 
ridden  fellah  the  coin  his  poor  body  mints  at  the  corvee, 
in  his  own  taxed  fields  of  dourha  and  cucumbers. 

:'Is  this  like  anything  we  ever  dreamed  at  Hamley, 
Faith  ?  Yet  here  am  I  set,  and  here  shall  I  stay  till  the 
skein  be  ravelled  out.  Soon  I  shall  go  into  the  desert 
upon  a  mission  to  the  cities  of  the  South,  to  Dongola, 
Khartoum,  and  Darfur  and  beyond;  for  there  is  trouble 
yonder,  and  war  is  near,  unless  it  is  given  to  me  to  bring 
peace.  So  I  must  bend  to  my  study  of  Arabic,  which  I 
am  thankful  I  learned  long  ago.  And  I  must  not  forget 
to  say  that  I  shall  take  with  me  on  my  journey  that 
faithful  Muslim  Ebn  Ezra.  Others  I  shall  take  also,  but 
of  them  I  shall  write  hereafter. 

' '  I  shall  henceforth  be  moving  in  the  midst  of  things 
which  I  was  taught  to  hate.  I  pray  that  I  may  not  hate 
them  less  as  time  goes  on.  To-morrow  I  shall  breathe 
the  air  of  intrigue,  shall  hear  footsteps  of  spies  behind 
me  wherever  I  go;  shall  know  that  even  the  roses  in 
the  garden  have  ears;  that  the  ground  under  my  feet 
will  telegraph  my  thoughts.  Shall  I  be  true  ?  Shall  I  at 
last  whisper,  and  follow,  and  evade,  believe  in  no  one, 
much  less  in  myself,  steal  in  and  out  of  men's  confi- 
dences to  use  them  for  my  own  purposes?  Does  any 
human  being  know  what  he  can  bear  of  temptation 
or  of  the  daily  pressure  of  the  life  around  him>  what 
ers  of  resistance  are  in  his  soul?  how  long  the  vital 
energy  will  continue  to  throw  off  the  never-ending  seduc- 
tion, the  freshening  force  of  evil  ?  Therein  lies  the  power 
of  evil,  that  it  is  ever  new,  ever  fortified  by  continuous 
conquest  and  achievements.  It  has  the  rare  fire  of  ag- 
gression; is  ever  more  upon  the  offence  than  upon  the 
defence;  has,  withal,  the  false  lure  of  freedom  from 
restraint,  the  throbbing  force  of  sympathy. 

"Such  things  I  dreamed  not  of  in  Soolsby's  hut  upon 
the  hill,  Faith,  though,  indeed,  that  seemed  a  time  of 

95 


THE    WEAVERS 

trial  and  sore-heartedness.  How  large  do  small  issues 
seem  till  we  have  faced  the  momentous  things!  It  is 
true  that  the  larger  life  has  pleasures  and  expanding 
capacities;  but  it  is  truer  still  that  it  has  perils,  events 
which  try  the  soul  as  it  is  never  tried  in  the  smaller  life — 
unless,  indeed,  the  soul  be  that  of  the  Epicurean.  The 
Epicurean  I  well  understand,  and  in  his  way  I  might  have 
walked  with  a  wicked  grace.  I  have  in  me  some  hidden 
depths  of  luxury,  a  secret  heart  of  pleasure,  an  under- 
standing for  the  forbidden  thing.  I  could  have  walked 
the  broad  way  with  a  laughing  heart,  though,  in  truth, 
habit  of  mind  and  desire  have  kept  me  in  the  better  path. 
But  offences  must  come,  and  woe  to  him  from  whom  the 
offence  cometh!  I  have  begun  now,  and  only  now,  to 
feel  the  storms  that  shake  us  to  our  farthest  cells  of  life. 
I  begin  to  see  how  near  good  is  to  evil:  how  near  faith 
is  to  unfaith;  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  judge  from 
actions  only;  how  little  we  can  know  to-day  what  we 
shall  feel  to-morrow.  Yet  one  must  learn  to  see  deeper, 
to  find  motive,  not  in  acts  that  shake  the  faith,  but  in 
character  which  needs  no  explanation,  which — "  He 
paused,  disturbed. 

Then  he  raised  his  head,  as  though  not  conscious  of 
what  was  breaking  the  course  of  his  thoughts.  Presently 
he  realized  a  low,  hurried  knocking  at  his  door.  He 
drew  a  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  sprang  up.  An  instant 
later  the  figure  of  a  woman,  deeply  veiled,  stood  within 
the  room,  beside  the  table  where  he  had  been  writing. 
There  was  silence  as  they  faced  each  other,  his  back 
against  the  door. 

"Oh,  do  you  not  know  me?"  she  said  at  last,  and  sank 
into  the  chair  where  he  had  been  sitting- 

The  question  was  unnecessary,  and  she  knew  it  was 
so ;  but  she  could  not  bear  the  strain  of  the  silence.  She 
seemed  to  have  risen  out  of  the  letter  he  had  been  writing; 
and  had  he  not  been  writing  of  her — of  what  concerned 

96 


THE    WEAVERS 

them  both  ?  How  mean  and  small-hearted  he  had  been, 
to  have  thought  for  an  instant  that  she  had  not  the 
highest  courage,  though  in  going  she  had  done  the  dis- 
creeter,  safer  thing!     But  she  had  come — she  had  come! 

All  this  was  in  his  eyes,  though  his  face  was  pale  and 
still.  He  was  almost  rigid  with  emotion,  for  the  ancient 
habit  of  repose  and  self-command  of  the  Quaker  people 
was  upon  him. 

"Can  you  not  see — do  you  not  know?"  she  repeated, 
her  back  upon  him  now,  her  face  still  veiled,  her  hands 
making  a  swift  motion  of  distress. 

"Has  thee  found  in  the  past  that  thee  is  so  soon  for- 
gotten?" 

"Oh,  do  not  blame  me!"  She  raised  her  veil  sudden- 
ly and  showed  a  face  as  pale  as  his  own,  and  in  the  eyes 
a  fiery  brightness.  "I  did  not  know.  It  was  so  hard 
to  come — do  not  blame  me.  I  went  to  Alexandria — I 
felt  that  I  must  fly,  the  air  around  me  seemed  full  of 
voices  crying  out.  Did  you  not  understand  why  I 
went?" 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  coming  forward  slowly. 
"Thee  should  not  have  returned.  In  the  way  I  go  now 
the  watchers  go  also." 

"If  I  had  not  come,  you  would  never  have  under- 
stood," she  answered  quickly.  "  I  am  not  sorry  I  went. 
I  was  so  frightened,  so  shaken.  My  only  thought  was 
to  get  away  from  the  terrible  Thing.  But  I  should  have 
been  sorry  all  my  life  long,  had  I  not  come  back  to  tell 
you  what  I  feel,  and  that  I  shall  never  forget.  All  my 
life  I  shall  be  grateful.  You  have  saved  me  from  a 
thousand  deaths!  Ah,  if  I  could  give  you  but  one  life! 
Yet — yet — oh,  do  not  think  but  that  I  would  tell  you 
the  whole  truth,  though  I  am  not  wholly  truthful.  See, 
I  love  my  place  in  the  world  more  than  I  love  my  life: 
and  but  for  you  I  should  have  lost  all." 

II     made  a  protesting  motion.     "The  debt  is  mine, 

97 


THE    WEAVERS 

in  truth.  But  for  you  I  should  never  have  known  what, 
perhaps — "     He  paused. 

His  eyes  were  on  hers,  gravely  speaking  what  his 
tongue  faltered  to  say.  She  looked  and  looked,  but  did 
not  understand.  She  only  saw  troubled  depths  lighted 
by  a  soul  of  kindling  purpose .      '  Tell  me , ' '  she  said ,  awed . 

"Through  you  I  have  come  to  know—"  He  paused 
again.  What  he  was  going  to  say,  truthful  though  it 
was,  must  hurt  her,  and  she  had  been  sorely  hurt  al- 
ready.    He  put  his  thoughts  more  gently,  more  vaguely. 

"By  what  happened  I  have  come  to  see  what  matters 
in  life.  I  was  behind  the  hedge.  I  have  broken  through 
upon  the  road.  I  know  my  goal  now.  The  highway  is 
before  me." 

She  felt  the  tragedy  in  his  words,  and  her  voice  shook 
as  she  spoke.  "I  wish  I  knew  life  better.  Then  I  could 
make  a  better  answer.  You  are  on  the  road,  you  say. 
But  I  feel  that  it  is  a  hard  and  cruel  road — oh,. I  under- 
stand that  at  least!  Tell  me,  please,  tell  me  the  whole 
truth.  You  are  hiding  from  me  what  you  feel.  I  have 
upset  your  life,  have  I  not?  You  are  a  Quaker,  and 
Quakers  are  better  than  all  other  Christian  people,  are 
they  not?  Their  faith  is  peace,  and  for  me,  you — " 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  an  instant,  but 
turned  quickly  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  "Forme 
you  put  your  hand  upon  the  clock  of  a  man's  life,  and 
stopped  it." 

She  got  to  her  feet  with  a  passionate  gesture,  but  he 
put  a  hand  gently  upon  her  arm,  and  she  sank  back 
again.  "Oh,  it  was  not  you;  it  was  I  who  did  it!"  she 
said.  "You  did  what  any  man  of  honor  would  have 
done,  what  a  brother  would  have  done." 

"What  I  did  is  a  matter  for  myself  only,"  he  re- 
sponded quickly.  "Had  I  never  seen  your  face  again 
it  would  have  been  the  same.  You  were  the  occasion; 
the  thing  I  did  had  only  one  source,  my  own  heart  and 

98 


THE    WEAVERS 

mind.  There  might  have  been  another  way ;  but  for  that 
way,  or  for  the  way  I  did  take,  you  could  not  be  respon- 
sible." 

' '  How  generous  you  are ! ' '  Her  eyes  swam  with  tears ; 
she  leaned  over  the  table  where  he  had  been  writing, 
and  the  tears  dropped  upon  his  letter.  Presently  she 
realized  this,  and  drew  back,  then  made  as  though  to 
dry  the  tears  from  the  paper  with  her  handkerchief. 
As  she  did  so  the  words  that  he  had  written  met  her  eye : 
"But  offences  must  come,  and  woe  to  him  from  whom  the 
offence  cometh!  I  have  begun  now,  and  only  now,  to 
feel  the  storms  that  shake  us  to  our  farthest  cells  of 
life." 

She  became  very  still.  He  touched  her  arm  and  said 
heavily,  "Come  away,  come  away." 

She  pointed  to  the  words  she  had  read.  "I  could  not 
help  but  see,  and  now  I  know  what  this  must  mean  to 
you." 

"Thee  must  go  at  once,"  he  urged.  "Thee  should  not 
have  come.  Thee  was  safe — none  knew.  A  few  hours 
and  it  would  all  have  been  far  behind.  We  might  never 
have  met  again." 

Suddenly  she  gave  a  low  hysterical  laugh.  "You 
think  you  hide  the  real  thing  from  me.  I  know  I'm 
ignorant  and  selfish  and  feeble-minded,  but  I  can  see 
farther  than  you  think.  You  want  to  tell  the  truth 
about — about  it,  because  you  are  honest  and  hate  hid- 
ing things,  because  you  want  to  be  punished,  and  so 
pay  the  price.  Oh,  I  can  understand!  If  it  were  not 
for  me  you  would  not.  ..."  With  a  sudden  wild  impulse 
she  got  to  her  feet.  "And  you  shall  not,"  she  cried. 
"  I  will  not  have  it."  Color  came  rushing  to  her  checks. 
"  I  will  not  have  it.  I  will  not  put  myself  so  much  in 
r  debt.  I  will  not  demand  so  much  of  you.  I  will 
face  it  all.      1  will  stand  alone." 

There  was  a  touch  of  indignation  in  her  voice.     Some- 

99 


THE    WEAVERS 

how  she  seemed  moved  to  anger  against  him.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  at  her  side  rigidly,  her  pulses  throb- 
bing. He  stood  looking  at  her  fixedly,  as  though  trying 
to  realize  her.  His  silence  agitated  her  still  further,  and 
she  spoke  excitedly. 

"I  could  have,  would  have,  killed  him  myself  without 
a  moment's  regret.  He  had  planned,  planned — ah,  God, 
can  you  not  see  it  all !  I  would  have  taken  his  life  without 
a  thought.  I  was  mad  to  go  upon  such  an  adventure,  but 
I  meant  no  ill.  I  had  not  one  thought  that  I  could  not 
have  cried  out  from  the  house-tops,  and  he  had  in  his 
heart  —  he  had  what  you  saw.  But  you  repent  that 
you  killed  him — by  accident,  it  was  by  accident.  Do 
you  realize  how  many  times  others  have  been  trapped 
by  him  as  was  I !  Do  you  not  see  what  he  was — as  I  see 
now?  Did  he  not  say  as  much  to  me  before  you  came, 
when  I  was  dumb  with  terror?  Did  he  not  make  me 
understand  what  his  whole  life  had  been?  Did  I  not 
see  in  a  flash  the  women  whose  lives  he  had  spoiled  and 
killed  ?  Would  I  have  had  pity  ?  Would  I  have  had 
remorse?  No,  no,  no!  I  was  frightened  when  it  was 
done,  I  was  horrified,  but  I  was  not  sorry;  and  I  am 
not  sorry.  It  was  to  be.  It  was  the  true  end  to  his 
vileness.     Ah!" 

She  shuddered,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  for 
a  moment,  then  went  on:  "I  can  never  forgive  myself 
for  going  to  the  Palace  with  him.  I  was  mad  for  ex- 
perience, for  mystery;  I  wanted  more  than  the  ordinary 
share  of  knowledge.  I  wanted  to  probe  things.  Yet 
I  meant  no  wrong.  I  thought  then  nothing  of  which  I 
shall  ever  be  ashamed.  But  I  shall  always  be  ashamed 
because  I  knew  him,  because  he  thought  that  I — oh,  if  I 
were  a  man,  I  should  be  glad  that  I  had  killed  him,  for 
the  sake  of  all  honest  women!" 

He  remained  silent.  His  look  was  not  upon  her,  he 
seemed  lost  in  a  dream;  but  his  face  was  fixed  in  trouble. 

ioo 


THE    WEAVERS 

She  misunderstood  his  silence.  "You  had  the  cour- 
age, the  impulse  to — to  do  it,"  she  said  keenly;  "you 
have  not  the  courage  to  justify  it.  I  will  not  have  it  so. 
I  will  tell  the  truth  to  all  the  world.  I  will  not  shrink. 
I  shrank  yesterday  because  I  was  afraid  of  the  world ; 
to-day  I  will  face  it,  I  will — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  another  look  flashed  into 
her  face.  Presently  she  spoke  in  a  different  tone;  a 
new  light  had  come  upon  her  mind.  "But  I  see,"  she 
added.  "To  tell  all  is  to  make  you  the  victim,  too,  of 
what  he  did.  It  is  in  your  hands;  it  is  all  in  your  hands; 
and  I  cannot  speak  unless — unless  you  are  ready  also." 

There  was  an  unintended  touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice. 
She  had  been  troubled  and  tried  beyond  bearing,  and  her 
impulsive  nature  revolted  at  his  silence.  She  misun- 
derstood him,  or,  if  she  did  not  wholly  misunderstand 
him,  she  was  angry  at  what  she  thought  was  a  needless 
remorse  or  sensitiveness.  Did  not  the  man  deserve  his 
end? 

"There  is  only  one  course  to  pursue,"  he  rejoined 
quietly,  "and  that  is  the  course  we  entered  upon  last 
night.  I  neither  doubted  yourself  nor  your  courage. 
Thee  must  not  turn  back  now.  Thee  must  not  alter  the 
course  which  was  your  own  making,  and  the  only  course 
which  thee  could,  or  I  should,  take.  I  have  planned  my 
life  according  to  the  word  I  gave  you.  I  could  not  turn 
back  now.  We  are  strangers,  and  we  must  remain  so. 
Thee  will  go  from  here  now,  and  we  must  not  meet 
again.     I  am — " 

"I  know  who  you  are,"  she  broke  in.  "I  know  what 
your  religion  is ;  that  fighting  and  war  and  bloodshed  is  a 
sin  to  you." 

"I  am  of  no  family  or  place  in  England,"  he  went  on 
calmly.  "I  come  of  yeoman  and  trading  stock;  I  have 
nothing  in  common  with  people  of  rank  and  riches. 
Our  lines  of  life  will  not  cross.     It  is  well  that  it  should 

IOI 


THE    WEAVERS 

be  so.  As  to  what  happened — that  which  I  may  feel  has 
nothing  to  do  with  whether  I  was  justified  or  no.  But 
if  thee  has  thought  that  I  have  repented  doing  what  I 
did,  let  that  pass  forever  from  your  mind.  I  know  that 
I  should  do  the  same,  yes,  even  a  hundred  times.  I  did 
according  to  my  nature.  Thee  must  not  now  be  punished 
cruelly  for  a  thing  thee  did  not  do.  Silence  is  the  only 
way  of  safety  or  of  justice.  We  must  not  speak  of  this 
again.     We  must  each  go  our  own  way." 

Her  eyes  were  moist.  She  reached  out  a  hand  to  him 
timidly.  "Oh,  forgive  me,"  she  added  brokenly.  "I 
am  so  vain,  so  selfish,  and  that  makes  one  blind  to  the 
truth.  It  is  all  clearer  now.  You  have  shown  me  that 
I  was  right  in  my  first  impulse,  and  that  is  all  I  can  say 
for  myself.  I  shall  pray  all  my  life  that  it  will  do  you 
no  harm  in  the  end." 

She  remained  silent,  for  a  moment  adjusting  her  veil, 
preparing  to  go.  Presently  she  spoke  again:  "I  shall  al- 
ways want  to  know  about  you  —  what  is  happening  to 
you.     How  could  it  be  otherwise?" 

She  was  half  realizing  one  of  the  deepest  things  in  ex- 
istence, that  the  closest  bond  between  two  human  beings 
is  a  bond  of  secrecy  upon  a  thing  which  vitally,  fatally 
concerns  both  or  either.  It  is  a  power  at  once  malevo- 
lent and  beautiful.  A  secret  like  that  of  David  and 
Hylda  will  do  in  a  day  what  a  score  of  years  could  not 
accomplish,  will  insinuate  confidences  which  might  never 
be  given  to  the  nearest  or  dearest.  In  neither  was  any 
feeling  of  the  heart  begotten  by  their  experiences;  and 
yet  they  had  gone  deeper  in  each  other's  lives  than  any 
one  either  had  known  in  a  lifetime.  They  had  struck  a 
deeper  note  than  love  or  friendship.  They  had  touched 
the  chord  of  a  secret  and  mutual  experience  which  had 
gone  so  far  that  their  lives  would  be  influenced  by  it 
forever  after.     Each  understood  this  in  a  different  way. 

Hylda  looked  towards  the  letter  lying  on  the  table. 

102 


THE    WEAVERS 

It  had  raised  in  her  mind,  not  a  doubt,  but  an  un- 
defined, undefinable  anxiety.  He  saw  the  glance,  and 
said:  "I  was  writing  to  one  who  has  been  as  a  sister  to 
me.  She  was  my  mother's  sister  though  she  is  almost, 
as  young  as  I.  Her  name  is  Faith.  There  is  nothing 
there  of  what  concerns  thee  and  me,  though  it  would 
make  no  difference  if  she  knew."  Suddenly  a  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him.  "The  secret  is  of  thee  and  me. 
There  is  safety.  If  it  became  another's,  there  might  be 
peril.     The  thing  shall  be  between  us  only,  forever?" 

"Do  you  think  that  I—" 

"My  instinct  tells  me  a  woman  of  sensitive  mind  might 
one  day,  out  of  an  unmerciful  honesty,  tell  her  hus- 
band—" 

"I  am  not  married — " 

"But  one  day — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "Sentimental  egotism  will  not 
rule  me.  Tell  me,"  she  added — "tell  me  one  thing  before 
I  go.     You  said  that  your  course  was  set.     What  is  it  ?" 

"I  remain  here,"  he  answered  quietly.  "I  remain  in 
the  service  of  Prince  Kaid." 

'It  is  a  dreadful  government,  an  awful  service — " 

"That  is  why  I  stay." 

'  You  are  going  to  try  and  change  things  here — you 
alone?" 

"I  hope  not  alone,  in  time." 

"Vou  are  going  to  leave  England,  your  friends,  your 
family,  your  place — in  Hamley,  was  it  not  ?  My  aunt 
has  read  of  you — my  cousin — "     She  paused. 

'I  had  no  place  in  Hamley.  Here  is  my  place.  I »: 
tance  has  little  to  do  with  understanding  or  affection. 
I  had  an  uncle  here  in  the  East  for  twenty-five  years, 
yet  T  knew  him  better  than  all  others  in  the  world. 
u  (thing  if  minds  arc  in  sympathy.  My  uncle 
talked    I  er  seas  and  lands.     I  felt  him,  h* 

him  speak." 

&  103 


THE    WEAVERS 

"You  think  that  minds  can  speak  to  minds,  no  matter 
what  the  distance — real  and  definite  things?" 

"If  I  were  parted  from  one  very  dear  to  me,  I  would 
try  to  say  to  him  or  her  what  was  in  my  mind,  not  by 
written  word  only,  but  by  the  flying  thought." 

She  sat  down  suddenly,  as  though  overwhelmed.  ' '  Oh, 
if  that  were  possible!"  she  said.  "If  only  one  could  send 
a  thought  like  that!"  Then  with  an  impulse,  and  the 
flicker  of  a  sad  smile,  she  reached  out  a  hand.  "If  ever 
in  the  years  to  come  you  want  to  speak  to  me,  will  you 
try  to  make  me  understand,  as  your  uncle  did  with 
you?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  he  answered.  "That  which  is  deepest 
within  us  obeys  only  the  laws  of  its  need.  By  instinct 
it  turns  to  where  help  lies,  as  a  wild  deer,  fleeing  from 
captivity,  makes  for  the  veldt  and  the  watercourse." 

She  got  to  her  feet  again.  "I  want  to  pay  my  debt," 
she  said  solemnly.  "It  is  a  debt  that  one  day  must  be 
paid  —  so  awful  —  so  awful!"  A  swift  change  passed 
over  her.  She  shuddered,  and  grew  white.  "I  said 
brave  words  just  now,"  she  added  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
"but  now  I  see  him  lying  there  cold  and  still,  and  you 
stooping  over  him.  I  see  you  touch  his  breast,  his  pulse. 
I  see  you  close  his  eyes.  One  instant  full  of  the  pulse  of 
life,  the  next  struck  out  into  infinite  space.  Oh,  I  shall 
never — how  can  I  ever — -forget!"  She  turned  her  head 
away  from  him,  then  composed  herself  again,  and  said 
quietly,  with  anxious  eyes:  "Why  was  nothing  said  or 
done?  Perhaps  they  are  only  waiting.  Perhaps  they 
know.  Why  was  it  announced  that  he  died  in  his  bed 
at  home?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  When  a  man  in  high  places  dies  in 
Egypt,  it  may  be  one  death  or  another.  No  one  in- 
quires too  closely.  He  died  in  Ka'id  Pasha's  Palace, 
where  other  men  have  died,  and  none  has  inquired  too 
closely.       To-day  they  told  me  at  the  Palace  that  his 

104 


THE    WEAVERS 

carriage  was  seen  to  leave  with  himself  and  Mizraim 
the  Chief  Eunuch.  Whatever  the  object,  he  was  secretly 
taken  to  his  house  from  the  Palace,  and  his  brother  Na- 
houm  seized  upon  his  estate  in  the  early  morning.  I 
think  that  no  one  knows  the  truth.  But  it  is  all  in  the 
hands  of  God.  We  can  do  nothing  more.  Thee  must 
go.  Thee  should  not  have  come.  In  England  thee  will 
forget,  as  thee  should  forget.  In  Egypt  I  shall  remem- 
ber, as  I  should  remember." 

"TJiee,"  she  repeated  softly.  "I  love  the  Quaker 
thee.  My  grandmother  was  an  American  Quaker.  She 
always  spoke  like  that.  Will  you  not  use  thee  and  thou 
in  speaking  to  me,  always?" 

"We  are  not  likely  to  speak  together  in  any  language 
in  the  future,"  he  answered.  "But  now  thee  must  go, 
and  I  will—" 

"My  cousin,  Mr.  Lacey,  is  waiting  for  me  in  the  gar- 
den," she  answered.     "I  shall  be  safe  with  him." 

She  moved  towards  the  door.  He  caught  the  handle 
to  turn  it,  when  there  came  the  noise  of  loud  talking,  am  1 
the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  courtyard.  He  opened 
the  door  slightly  and  looked  out,  then  closed  it  quickly. 

"It  is  Nahoum  Pasha,"  he  said.  "Please,  the  other 
room,"  he  added,  and  pointed  to  a  curtain.  'There  is  a 
window  leading  on  a  garden.  The  garden-gate  opens  on 
a  street  leading  to  the  Ezbekiah  Square  and  your  hotel." 

"But,  no,  I  shall  stay  here,"  she  said.  She  drew 
down  her  veil,  then  taking  from  her  pocket  another, 
arranged  it  also,  so  that  her  face  was  hidden. 

"Thee  must  go,"  he  said — "go  quickly."  Again  he 
pointed. 

"I  will  remain,"  she  rejoined,  with  determination,  and 
seated  herself  in  a  chair. 


X 

THE    FOUR    WHO    KNEW 

There  was  a  knocking  at  the  door.  David  opened  it. 
Nahoum  Pasha  stepped  inside,  and  stood  still  a  moment 
looking  at  Hylda.  Then  he  made  low  salutation  to  her, 
touched  his  hand  to  his  lips  and  breast  saluting  David, 
and  waited. 

"What  is  thy  business,  pasha?"  asked  David  quietly, 
and  motioned  towards  a  chair. 

"May  thy  path  be  on  the  high  hills,  Saadat-el-basha. 
I  come  for  a  favor  at  thy  hands."     Nahoum  sat  down. 

"What  favor  is  mine  to  give  to  Nahoum  Pasha?" 

"The  Prince  has  given  thee  supreme  place — it  was 
mine  but  yesterday.  It  is  well.  To  the  deserving  be 
the  fruits  of  deserving." 

"Is  merit,  then,  so  truly  rewarded  here ?"  asked  David 
quietly. 

'The  Prince  saw  merit  at  last  when  he  chose  your 
excellency  for  councillor." 

"How  shall  I  show  merit,  then,  in  the  eyes  of  Nahoum 
Pasha?" 

"Even  by  urging  the  Prince  to  give  me  place  under 
him  again.  Not  as  heretofore,- — that  is  thy  place — -yet 
where  it  may  be.  I  have  capacity.  I  can  aid  thee  in 
the  great  task.  Thou  wouldst  remake  our  Egypt — and 
my  heart  is  with  you.  I  would  rescue,  not  destroy.  In 
years  gone  by  I  tried  to  do  good  to  this  land,  and  I  failed. 
I  was  alone.     I  ^ad  not  the  strength  to  fight  the  forces 

106 


THE    WEAVERS 

around  me.  I  was  overcome.  I  had  too  little  faith. 
But  my  heart  was  with  the  right — -I  am  an  Armenian  and 
a  Christian  of  the  ancient  faith.  I  am  in  sorrow.  Death 
has  humbled  me.  My  brother  Foorgat  Bey — may  flowers 
bloom  forever  on  his  grave! — he  is  dead," — his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  those  of  David,  as  with  a  perfectly  assured  can- 
dor— "and  my  heart  is  like  an  empty  house.  But  man 
must  not  be  idle  and  live — if  Kaid  lets  me  live.  I  have 
riches.  Are  not  Foorgat's  riches  mine,  his  palace,  his  gar- 
dens, his  cattle,  and  his  plantations,  are  they  not  mine? 
I  may  sit  in  the  courtyard  and  hear  the  singers,  may  listen 
to  the  tale-tellers  by  the  light  of  the  moon ;  I  may  hear 
the  tales  of  Al-Raschid  chanted  by  one  whose  tongue 
never  falters,  and  whose  voice  is  like  music;  after  the 
manner  of  the  East  I  may  give  bread  and  meat  to  the 
poor  at  sunset;  I  may  call  the  dancers  to  the  feast. 
But  what  comfort  shall  it  give  ?  I  am  no  longer  a  youth. 
I  would  work.  I  would  labor  for  the  land  of  Egypt, 
for  by  work  shall  we  fulfil  ourselves,  redeem  ourselves. 
Saadat,  I  would  labor,  but  my  master  has  taken  away 
from  me  the  anvil,  the  fire,  and  the  hammer,  and  I  sit 
without  the  door  like  an  armless  beggar.  What  work  to 
do  in  Egypt  save  to  help  the  land,  and  how  shall  one 
help,  save  in  the  Prince's  service?  There  can  be  no  re- 
form from  outside.  If  I  labored  for  better  things  outside 
Ka'id's  Palace,  how  long  dost  thou  think  I  should  escape 
the  Nile,  or  the  diamond-dust  in  my  coffee?  The  work 
which  I  did,  is  it  not  so  that  it,  with  much  more,  falls 
now  to  thy  hands,  Saadat,  with  a  confidence  from  Kaid 
that  never  was  mine  ?" 

"I  sought  not  the  office." 

"Have  I  a  word  of  blame?     I  come  to  ask  for  work 

to  do  with  thee.     Do  I  not  know  Prince  ECaid  ?     He  had 

come  to  distrust  us  all.     As  stale  water  were  we  in  his 

te.     He  lure  in  US,  and  in  our  deeds  he 

found  only  stones  of  stumbling.     He  knew  not  whom  to 

107 


THE    WEAVERS 

trust.  One  by  one  we  all  had  yielded  to  ceaseless  intrigue 
and  common  distrust  of  each  other,  until  no  honest  man 
was  left ;  till  all  were  intent  to  save  their  lives  by  holding 
power;  for  in  this  land  to  lose  power  is  to  lose  life.  No 
man  who  has  been  in  high  place,  has  had  the  secrets  of 
the  Palace  and  the  ear  of  the  Prince,  lives  after  he  has 
lost  favor.  The  Prince,  for  his  safety,  must  ensure 
silence,  and  the  only  silence  in  Egypt  is  the  grave.  In 
thee,  Saadat,  Kaid  has  found  an  honest  man.  Men 
will  call  thee  mad,  if  thou  remainest  honest,  but  that  is 
within  thine  own  bosom  and  with  fate.  For  me,  thou 
hast  taken  my  place,  and  more.  Malaish,  it  is  the  decree 
of  fate,  and  I  have  no  anger!  I  come  to  ask  thee  to  save 
my  life,  and  then  to  give  me  work." 

"How  shall  I  save  thy  life?" 

"By  reconciling  the  Effendina  to  my  living,  and  then 
by  giving  me  service,  where  I  shall  be  near  to  thee, 
where  I  can  share  with  thee,  though  it  be  as  the  ant 
beside  the  beaver,  the  work  of  salvation  in  Egypt.  I 
am  rich  since  my  brother  was  " —  He  paused ;  no  covert 
look  was  in  his  eyes,  no  sign  of  knowledge,  nothing  but 
meditation  and  sorrowful  frankness  — ' '  since  Foorgat 
passed  away  in  peace,  praise  be  to  God!  He  lay  on  his 
bed  in  the  morning,  when  one  came  to  wake  him,  like  a 
sleeping  child,  no  sign  of  the  struggle  of  death  upon  him. 

A  gasping  sound  came  from  the  chair  where  Hylda 
sat;  but  he  took  no  notice.  He  appeared  to  be  uncon- 
scious of  David's  pain-drawn  face,  as  he  sat  with  his 
hands  upon  his  knees,  his  head  bent  forward  listening, 
as  though  lost  to  the  world. 

"So  did  Foorgat,  my  brother,  die  while  yet  in  the  ful- 
ness of  his  manhood,  life  beating  high  in  his  veins,  with 
years  before  him  to  waste.  He  was  a  pleasure-lover,  alas! 
he  laid  up  no  treasure  of  work  accomplished;  and  so  it 
was  meet  that  he  should  die  as  he  lived,  in  a  moment  of 
ease.     And  already  he  is  forgotten.     It  is  the  custom 

108 


THE    WEAVERS 

here.  He  might  have  died  by  diamond-dust,  and  men 
would  have  set  down  their  coffee-cups  in  surprise,  and 
then  would  have  forgotten ;  or  he  might  have  been  struck 
down  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin,  and,  unless  it  was  in 
the  Palace,  none  would  have  paused  to  note  it!  And  so 
the  sands  sweep  over  his  steps  upon  the  shore  of  time." 

After  the  first  exclamation  of  horror,  Hylda  had  sat 
rigid,  listening  as  though  under  a  spell.  Through  her 
veil  she  gazed  at  Nahoum  with  a  cramping  pain  at  her 
heart,  for  he  seemed  ever  on  the  verge  of  the  truth  she 
dreaded;  and  when  he  spoke  the  truth,  as  though  un- 
consciously, she  felt  she  must  cry  out  and  rush  from  the 
room.  He  recalled  to  her  the  scene  in  the  little  tapes- 
tried room  as  vividly  as  though  it  was  there  before  her 
eyes,  and  it  had  for  the  moment  all  the  effect  of  a  hideous 
nightmare.  At  last,  however,  she  met  David's  eyes, 
and  they  guided  her,  for  in  them  was  a  steady  strength 
and  force  which  gave  her  confidence.  At  first  he  also 
had  been  overcome  inwardly,  but  his  nerves  were  cool, 
his  head  was  clear,  and  he  listened  to  Nahoum,  thinking 
out  his  course  meanwhile. 

He  owed  this  man  much.  He  had  taken  his  place,  and 
by  so  doing  had  placed  his  life  in  danger.  He  had  killed 
the  brother  upon  the  same  day  that  he  had  dispossessed 
the  favorite  of  office ;  and  the  debt  was  heavy.  In  office 
Nahoum  had  done  after  his  kind,  after  the  custom  of  the 
place  and  the  people;  and  yet,  as  it  would  seem,  the  man 
had  had  stirrings  within  him  towards  a  higher  path. 
He,  at  any  rate,  had  not  amassed  riches  out  of  his  posi- 
tion, and  so  much  could  not  be  said  of  any  other  ser- 
vant of  the  Prince  Pasha.  Much  he  had  heard  of 
Nahoum's  powerful  will,  hidden  under  a  genial  exterior, 
and  behind  his  friendly,  smiling  blue  eyes.  He  had 
heard  also  of  cruelty — of  banishment,  and  of  enemies 
removed  from  his  path  suddenly,  never  to  be  seen  again; 
but,  on  the  whole,  men  spoke  with   more    admiration 

109 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  him  than  of  any  other  public  servant,  Armenian 
Christian  in  a  Mahommedan  country  though  he  was. 
That  very  day  Kaid  had  said  that  if  Nahoum  had  been 
less  eager  to  control  the  state,  he  might  still  have  held 
his  place.  Besides,  the  man  was  a  Christian — of  a  mys- 
tic, half-legendary,  obscured  Christianity;  yet  having  in 
his  mind  the  old  faith,  its  essence  and  its  meaning,  per- 
haps. Might  not  this  Oriental  mind,  with  that  faith, 
be  a  power  to  redeem  the  land?  It  was  a  wonderful 
dream,  in  which  he  found  the  way,  as  he  thought,  to 
atone  somewhat  to  this  man  for  a  dark  injury  done. 

When  Nahoum  stopped  speaking,  David  said:  "But 
if  I  would  have  it,  if  it  were  well  that  it  should  be,  I 
doubt  I  have  the  power  to  make  it  so." 

"  Saadat-el-basha,  Kaid  believes  in  thee  to-day;  he 
will  not  believe  to-morrow  if  thou  dost  remain  without 
initiative.  Action,  however  startling,  will  be  proof  of 
fitness.  His  Highness  shakes  a  long  spear.  Those  who 
ride  with  him  must  do  battle  with  the  same  valor.  Ex- 
cellency, I  have  now  great  riches  —  since  Death  smote 
Foorgat  Bey  in  the  forehead" — still  his  eyes  conveyed 
no  meaning,  though  Hylda  shrank  back — "and  I  would 
use  them  for  the  good  thou  wouldst  do  here.  Money 
will  be  needed,  and  sufficient  will  not  be  at  thy  hand- 
not  till  new  ledgers  be  opened,  new  balances  struck." 

He  turned  to  Hylda  quietly  and  with  a  continued  air 
of  innocence  said:  "Shall  it  not  be  so — madame  ?  Thou, 
I  doubt  not,  are  of  his  kin.  It  would  seem  so,  though 
I  ask  pardon  if  it  be  not  so — wilt  thou  not  urge  his  ex- 
cellency to  restore  me  to  Kaid's  favor?  I  know  little 
of  the  English,  though  I  know  them  humane  and  hon- 
est; but  my  brother  Foorgat  Bey,  he  was  much  among 
them,  lived  much  in  England,  was  a  friend  to  many 
great  English.  Indeed,  on  the  evening  that  he  died 
I  saw  him  in  the  gallery  of  the  banquet-room  with  an 
English  lady — can  one  be  mistaken  in  an  English  face? 

no 


THE    WEAVERS 

Perhaps  he  cared  for  her ;  perhaps  that  was  why  he  smiled 
as  he  lay  upon  his  bed,  never  to  move  again.  Madame, 
perhaps  in  England  thou  mayst  have  known  my  brother. 
If  that  is  so,  I  ask  thee  to  speak  for  me  to  his  excellency. 
My  life  is  in  danger,  and  I  am  too  young  to  go  as  my 
brother  went.  I  do  not  wish  to  die  in  middle  age,  as  my 
brother  died." 

He  had  gone  too  far.  In  David's  mind  there  was  no 
suspicion  that  Nahoum  knew  the  truth.  The  suggestion 
in  his  words  had  seemed  natural;  but,  from  the  first,  a 
sharp  suspicion  was  in  the  mind  of  Hylda,  and  his  last 
words  had  convinced  her  that  if  Nahoum  did  not  surely 
know  the  truth,  he  suspected  it  all  too  well.  Her  in- 
stinct had  pierced  far;  and  as  she  realized  his  suspicions, 
perhaps  his  certainty,  and  heard  his  words  of  covert  in- 
sult, which,  as  she  saw,  David  did  not  appreciate,  anger 
and  determination  grew  in  her.  Yet  she  felt  that  cau- 
tion must  mark  her  words,  and  that  nothing  but  dan- 
ger lay  in  resentment.  She  felt  the  everlasting  in- 
dignity behind  the  quiet,  youthful  eyes,  the  determined 
power  of  the  man;  but  she  saw  also  that,  for  the  pres- 
ent, the  course  Nahoum  suggested  was  the  only  course 
to  take.  And  David  must  not  even  feel  the  suspicion 
in  her  own  mind,  that  Nahoum  knew  or  suspected  the 
truth.  If  David  thought  that  Nahoum  knew,  the  end 
of  all  would  come  at  once.  It  was  clear,  however,  that 
Nahoum  meant  to  be  silent,  or  he  would  have  taken  an- 
other course  of  action.  Danger  lay  in  every  direction, 
but,  to  her  mind,  the  least  danger  lay  in  following  Na- 
houm's  wish. 

She  slowly  raised  her  veil,  showing  a  face  very  still 
now,  with  eyes  as  steady  as  David's.  David  started  at 
her  action,  he  thought  it  rash;  but  the  courage  of  it 
pleased  him,  too. 

"You  are  not  mistaken,"  she  said  slowly,  in  French; 
ur  brother  was  known  to  inc.     I  had  met  him  in  Eng- 

in 


THE    WEAVERS 

land.  It  will  be  a  relief  to  all  his  friends  to  know  that  he 
passed  away  peacefully!"  She  looked  him  in  the  eyes 
determinedly.  "Monsieur  Claridge  is  not  my  kinsman, 
but  he  is  my  fellow-countryman.  If  you  mean  well  by 
monsieur,  your  knowledge  and  your  riches  should  help 
him  on  his  way.  But  your  past  is  no  guarantee  of  good 
faith,  as  you  will  acknowledge." 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes  with  a  far  meaning.  "But 
I  am  giving  guarantees  of  good  faith  now,"  he  said  softly. 
"Will  you— not?" 

She  understood.  It  was  clear  that  he  meant  peace, 
for  the  moment  at  least. 

"  If  I  had  influence  I  would  advise  him  to  reconcile 
you  to  Prince  Kaid,"  she  said  quietly,  then  turned  to 
David  with  an  appeal  in  her  eyes. 

David  stood  up.  "I  will  do  what  I  can,"  he  said. 
"  If  thee  means  as  well  by  Egypt  as  I  mean  by  thee,  all 
may  be  well  for  all!" 

"Saadat!  Saadat!"  said  Nahoum,  with  show  of  as- 
sumed feeling,  and  made  salutation.  Then  to  Hylda, 
making  lower  salutation  still,  he  said:  "Thou  hast  lifted 
from  my  neck  the  yoke.  Thou  hast  saved  me  from  the 
shadow  and  the  dust.  I  am  thy  slave."  His  eyes  were 
like  a  child's,  wide  and  confiding. 

He  turned  towards  the  door,  and  was  about  to  open  it, 
when  there  came  a  knocking,  and  he  stepped  back.  Hylda 
drew  down  her  veil.  David  opened  the  door  cautiously 
and  admitted  Mizraim  the  Chief  Eunuch.  Mizraim's 
eyes  searched  the  room,  and  found  Nahoum. 

"Pasha,"  he  said  to  Nahoum,  "may  thy  bones  never 
return  to  dust,  nor  the  light  of  thine  eyes  darken!  There 
is  danger." 

Nahoum  nodded,  but  did  not  speak. 

"Shall  I  speak,  then?"  He  paused  and  made  low 
salutation  to  David,  saying,  "Excellency,  I  am  thine  ox 
to  be  slain." 

112 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Speak,  son  of  the  flowering  oak,"  said  Nahoum,  with 
a  sneer  in  his  voice.     "What  blessing  dost  thou  bring?" 

"The  Effendina  has  sent  for  thee." 

Nahoum's  eyes  flashed.     "By  thee,  lion  of  Abdin?" 

The  lean,  ghastly  being  smiled.  "He  has  sent  a  com- 
pany of  soldiers  and  Achmet  Pasha." 

"Achmet!  Is  it  so?"  "They  are  here,  Mizraim, 
watcher  of  the  morning?" 

'They  are  at  thy  palace — I  am  here,  light  of  Egypt." 

"  How  knewest  thou  I  was  here  ?" 

Mizraim  salaamed.  "A  watch  was  set  upon  thee  this 
morning  early.  The  watcher  was  of  my  slaves.  He 
brought  the  word  to  me  that  thou  wast  here  now.  A 
watcher  also  was  set  upon  thee,  excellency,"  he  turned 
to  David.  "He  also  was  of  my  slaves.  Word  was  de- 
livered to  his  Highness  that  thou" — he  turned  to  Na- 
houm again — "wast  in  thy  palace,  and  Achmet  Pasha 
went  thither.  He  found  thee  not.  Now  the  city  is  full 
of  watchers,  and  Achmet  goes  from  bazaar  to  bazaar, 
from  house  to  house  which  thou  wast  wont  to  frequent 
— and  thou  art  here!" 

"What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do,  Mizraim?" 

"Thou  art  here;  is  it  the  house  of  a  friend  or  a 
foe?" 

Nahoum  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  were  fixed  in 
thought  upon  the  floor,  but  he  was  smiling.  He  seemed 
without  fear. 

"But  if  this  be  the  house  of  a  friend,  is  he  safe  here ?" 
asked  David. 

"For  this  night,  it  may  be,"  answered  Mizraim,  "till 
other  watchers  be  set,  who  are  no  slaves  of  mine.  To- 
night, here,  of  all  places  in  Cairo,  he  is  safe;  for  who 
could  look  to  find  him,  where  thou  art  who  hast 
taken  from  him  his  place  and  office,  excellency — on 
whom  the  stars  shine  forever!  But  in  another  day,  if 
my  lord  Nahoum  be  not  forgiven  by  the  Effendina,  a 

113 


THE    WEAVERS 

hundred  watchers  will  pierce  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
Bazaar,  the  smallest  room  in  Cairo." 

David  turned  to  Nahoum.  "Peace  be  to  thee,  friend. 
Abide  here  till  to-morrow,  when  I  will  speak  for  thee  to 
his  Highness,  and,  I  trust,  bring  thee  pardon.  It  shall 
be  so — but  I  shall  prevail,"  he  added,  with  slow  decision; 
"I  shall  prevail  with  him.  My  reasons  shall  convince 
his  Highness." 

"I  can  help  you  with  great  reasons,  Saadat,"  said 
Nahoum.  "Thou  shalt  prevail.  I  can  tell  thee  that 
which  will  convince  Ka'id." 

While  they  were  speaking,  Hylda  had  sat  motionless, 
watching.  At  first  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  trap  had  been 
set,  and  that  David  was  to  be  the  victim  of  Oriental 
duplicity;  but  revolt,  as  she  did,  from  the  miserable 
creature  before  them,  she  saw  at  last  that  he  spoke  the 
truth. 

"Thee  will  remain  under  this  roof  to-night,  pasha?" 
asked  David. 

"I  will  stay  if  thy  goodness  will  have  it  so,"  answered 
Nahoum  slowly.  "It  is  not  my  way  to  hide,  but  when 
the  storm  comes  it  is  well  to  shelter." 

Salaaming  low,  Mizraim  withdrew,  his  last  glance 
being  thrown  towards  Hylda,  who  met  his  look  with  a 
repugnance  which  made  her  face  rigid.  She  rose  and 
put  on  her  gloves.  Nahoum  rose  also,  and  stood  watch- 
ing her  respectfully. 

"Thee  will  go?"  asked  David  with  a  movement  tow- 
ards her. 

She  inclined  her  head.  "We  have  finished  our  busi- 
ness, and  it  is  late,"  she  answered. 

David  looked  at  Nahoum.  "Thee  will  rest  here, 
pasha,  in  peace.  In  a  moment  I  will  return."  He  took 
up  his  hat. 

There  was  a  sudden  flash  of  Nahoum's  eyes,  as  though 
he  saw  an  outcome  of  the  intention  which  pleased  him, 

114 


THE    WEAVERS 

but  Hylda  saw  the  flash,  and  her  senses  were  at  once 
alarmed. 

"There  is  no  need  to  accompany  me,"  she  said.  "My 
cousin  waits  for  me." 

David  opened  the  door  leading  into  the  courtyard. 
It  was  dark,  save  for  the  light  of  a  brazier  of  coals.  A 
short  distance  away,  near  the  outer  gate,  glowed  a  star 
of  red  light,  and  the  fragrance  of  a  strong  cigar  came  over. 

"Say,  looking  for  me?"  said  a  voice,  and  a  figure 
moved  towards  David.  ' '  Yours  to  command,  pasha,  yours 
to  command."     Lacey  from  Chicago  held  out  his  hand. 

"Thee  is  welcome,  friend,"  said  David. 

"She's  ready,  I  suppose.  Wonderful  person,  that. 
Stands  on  her  own  feet  every  time.  She  don't  seem  as 
though  she  came  of  the  same  stock  as  me,  does  she?"  • 

"I  will  bring  her  if  thee  will  wait,  friend." 

"I'm  waiting."  Lacey  drew  back  to  the  gateway  again 
and  leaned  against  the  wall,  his  cigar  blazing  in  the  dusk. 

A  moment  later  David  appeared  in  the  garden  again, 
with  the  slim,  graceful  figure  of  the  girl  who  stood  "upon 
her  own  feet."     David  drew  her  aside  for  a  moment. 

"Thee  is  going  at  once  to  England?"  he  asked. 

"To-morrow  to  Alexandria.  There  is  a  steamer  next 
day  for  Marseilles.  In  a  fortnight  I  shall  be  in  Eng- 
land.'' 

"Thee  must  forget  Egypt,"  he  said. 

"Remembrance  is  not  a  thing  of  the  will,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"It  is  thy  duty  to  forget.  Thee  is  young,  and  it  is 
spring  with  thee.     Spring  should  be  in  thy  Thee 

has  seen  a  shadow;  but  let  it  not  fright  thee." 

"My  only  fear  is  that  I  may  forget,"  she  answered. 

"  Yet  thee  will  forget." 

Willi  a  motion  toward  Lacey  he  moved  to  the  gate. 
Suddenly  she  turned  to  him  and  touched  his  arm.  "  You 
will  be  a  great  man  here  in  Egypt,"  she  said.     "  You  will 

"5 


THE    WEAVERS 

have  enemies  without  number.  The  worst  of  your  ene- 
mies always  will  be  your  guest  to-night." 

He  did  not,  for  a  moment,  understand.  "Nahoum?" 
he  asked.  "I  take  his  place.  It  would  not  be  strange; 
but  I  will  win  him  to  me." 

"You  will  never  win  him,"  she  answered.  "Oh,  trust 
my  instinct  in  this!     Watch  him.     Beware  of  him." 

David  smiled  slightly.  "I  shall  have  need  to  be- 
ware of  many.  I  am  sure  thee  does  well  to  caution  me. 
Farewell,"  he  added. 

"If  it  should  be  that  I  can  ever  help  you — "  she  said, 
and  paused. 

"Thee  has  helped  me,"  he  replied.  "The  world  is  a 
desert.  Caravans  from  all  quarters  of  the  sun  meet 
at,  the  cross-roads.  One  gives  the  other  food  or  drink 
or  medicine,  and  they  all  move  on  again.  And  all  grows 
dim  with  time.  And  the  camel-drivers  are  forgotten; 
but  the  cross-roads  remain,  and  the  food  and  the  drink 
and  the  medicine  and  the  cattle  helped  each  caravan 
upon  the  way.     Is  it  not  enough?" 

She  placed  her  hand  in  his.  It  lay  there  for  a  moment. 
"God  be  with  thee,  friend,"  he  said. 

The  next  instant  Thomas  Tilman  Lacey's  drawling 
voice  broke  the  silence. 

"There's  something  catching  about  these  nights  in 
Egypt.  I  suppose  it's  the  air.  No  wind — just  the  stars, 
and  the  ultramarine,  and  the  nothing  to  do  but  lay  me 
down  and  sleep.  It  doesn't  give  you  the  jim- jumps  like 
Mexico.  It  makes  you  forget  the  world,  doesn't  it? 
You'd  do  things  here  that  you  wouldn't  do  anywhere 
else." 

The  gate  was  opened  by  the  bowab  and  the  two  passed 
through.  David  was  standing  by  the  brazier,  his  hand 
held  unconsciously  over  the  coals,  his  eyes  turned  tow- 
ards them.  The  reddish  flame  from  the  fire  lit  up  his 
face  under  the  broad-brimmed  hat.     His  head  slightly 

116 


THE    WEAVERS 

bowed,  was  thrust  forward  to  the  dusk.  Hylda  looked 
at  him  steadily  for  a  moment.  Their  eyes  met,  though 
hers  were  in  the  shade.     Again  Lacey  spoke. 

"Don't  be  anxious.  I'll  see  her  safe  back.  Good- 
bye.    Give  my  love  to  the  girls." 

David  stood  looking  at  the  closed  gate  with  eyes  full 
of  thought  and  wonder  and  trouble.  He  was  not  think- 
ing of  the  girl.  There  was  no  sentimental  reverie  in  his 
look.  Already  his  mind  was  engaged  in  scrutiny  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  he  was  set.  He  realized  fully  his 
situation.  The  idealism  which  had  been  born  with  him 
had  met  its  reward  in  a  labor  herculean  at  the  least, 
and  the  infinite  drudgery  of  the  practical  issues  came  in 
a  terrible  pressure  of  conviction  to  his  mind.  The  mind 
did  not  shrink  from  any  thought  of  the  dangers  in  which 
he  would  be  placed,  from  any  vision  of  the  struggle  he 
must  have  with  intrigue  and  treachery  and  vileness.  In 
a  dim,  half-realized  way  he  felt  that  honesty  and  truth 
would  be  invincible  weapons  with  a  people  who  did  not 
know  them.  They  would  be  embarrassed,  if  not  baffled, 
by  a  formula  of  life  and  conduct  which  they  could  not 
understand. 

It  was  not  these  matters  that  vexed  him  now,  but 
the  underlying  forces  of  life  set  in  motion  by  the  blow 
which  killed  a  fellow-man.  This  fact  had  driven  him 
to  an  act  of  redemption  unparalleled  in  its  intensity 
and  scope ;  but  he  could  not  tell — and  this  was  the  thought 
that  shook  his  being — how  far  this  act  itself,  inspiring 
him  to  a  dangerous  and  immense  work  in  life,  would  sap 
the  best  that  was  in  him,  since  it  must  remain  a  secret 
crime,  for  which  he  could  not  openly  atone.  He  asked 
himself  as  he  stood  by  the  brazier,  the  bowdb  apathetical- 
ly rolling  cigarettes  at  his  feet,  whether,  in  the  flow  of  cir- 
cumstance, the  fact  that  he  could  not  make  open  res- 
titution, or  take  punishment  for  his  unlawful  act,  would 
undermine  the  structure  of  his  character.     He  was  on  the 

117 


THE    WEAVERS 

threshold  of  his  career ;  action  had  not  yet  begun ;  he  was 
standing  like  a  swimmer  on  a  high  shore,  looking  into 
depths  beneath,  which  have  never  been  plumbed  by  mor- 
tal man,  wondering  what  currents,  what  rocks,  lay  be- 
neath the  surface  of  the  blue.  Would  his  strength,  his 
knowledge,  his  skill,  be  equal  to  the  enterprise?  Would 
he  emerge  safe  and  successful,  or  be  carried  away 
by  some  strong  undercurrent,  be  battered  on  unseen 
rocks  ? 

He  turned  with  a  calm  face  to  the  door  behind  which 
sat  the  displaced  favorite  of  the  Prince,  his  mind  at  rest, 
the  trouble  gone  out  of  his  eyes. 

"Uncle  Benn!  Uncle  Benn!"  he  said  to  himself,  with 
a  warmth  at  his  heart  as  he  opened  the  door  and  stepped 
inside. 

Nahoum  sat  sipping  coffee.  A  cigarette  was  between 
his  fingers.  He  touched  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  his 
breast  as  David  closed  the  door  and  hung  his  hat  upon 
a  nail.  David's  servant,  Mahommed  Hassan,  whom  he 
had  had  since  first  he  came  to  Egypt,  was  gliding  from 
the  room — a  large,  square-shouldered  fellow  of  near  six 
feet,  dressed  in  a  plain  blue  yelek,  but  on  his  head  the 
green  turban  of  one  who  had  done  a  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca.  Nahoum  waved  a  hand  after  Mahommed  and 
said: 

"Whence  came  thy  servant,  Saadat?" 

"He  wras  my  guide  to  Cairo.  I  picked  him  from  the 
street." 

Nahoum  smiled.  There  was  no  malice  in  the  smile, 
only,  as  it  might  seem,  a  frank  humor.  "Ah,  your  ex- 
cellency used  independent  judgment.  Thou  art  a  judge 
of  men.  But  does  it  make  any  difference  that  the  man 
is  a  thief  and  a  murderer — a  murderer?" 

David's  eyes  darkened,  as  they  were  wont  to  do  when 
he  was  moved  or  shocked. 

"Shall   one   only   deal,    then,    with   those   who   have 

118 


THE    WEAVERS 

neither  stolen  nor  slain — is  that  the  rule  of  the  just  in 
Egypt?" 

Nahoum  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  as  though  in 
amiable  inquiry,  and  began  to  finger  a  string  of  beads 
as  a  nun  might  tell  her  paternosters.  "If  that  were  the 
rule,"  he  answered,  after  a  moment,  "how  should  any 
man  be  served  in  Egypt?  Hereabouts  is  a  man's  life 
held  cheap,  else  I  had  not  been  thy  guest  to-night;  and 
Kaid's  Palace  itself  would  be  empty,  if  every  man  in  it 
must  be  honest.  But  it  is  the  custom  of  the  place  for 
political  errors  to  be  punished  by  a  hidden  hand;  we  do 
not  call  it  murder." 

"What  is  murder,  friend?" 

"  It  is  such  a  crime  as  that  of  Mahommed  yonder,  who 
killed—" 

David  interposed.  "I  do  not  wish  to  know  his  crime. 
That  is  no  affair  between  thee  and  me." 

Nahoum  fingered  his  beads  meditatively.  "It  was 
an  affair  of  the  housetops  in  his  town  of  Manfaloot.  I 
have  only  mentioned  it  because  I  know  what  view  the 
English  take  of  killing,  and  how  set  thou  art  to  have  thy 
household  above  reproach,  as  is  meet  in  a  Christian  land. 
So,  I  took  it,  would  be  thy  mind — which  Heaven  I  ill 
with  light  for  Egypt's  sake! — that  thou  wouldst  have  none 
about  thee  who  were  not  above  reproach.  >  neither  liars, 
nor  thieves,  nor  murderers." 

"But  thee  would  serve  with  me,  friend,"  rejoined 
David  quietly.  "Thee  has  men's  lives  against  thy 
account." 

"Else  had  mine  been  against  their  account ." 

"  Was  it  not  so  with  Mahommed?  If  so,  according  to 
t  he  custom  of  the  land,  then  Mahommed  is  as  immune  as 
u  art." 

"  Excellency,  like  thee  I  am  a  Christian,  yet  am  I  also 
Oriental,  ami  what  is  crime  with  one  race  is  none  with 
another.  At  the  Palace  two  days  past  thou  saidst  thou 
9  i  ") 


THE    WEAVERS 

hadst  never  killed  a  man ;  and  I  know  that  thy  religion 
condemns  killing  even  in  war.  Yet  in  Egypt  thou  wilt 
kill,  or  thou  shalt  thyself  be  killed,  and  thy  aims  will 
come  to  naught.  When,  as  thou  wouldst  say,  thou  hast 
sinned,  hast  taken  a  man's  life,  then  thou  wilt  under- 
stand!    Thou  wilt  keep  this  fellow  Mahommed,  then?" 

"I  understand;  and  I  will  keep  him." 

"Surely  thy  heart  is  large  and  thy  mind  great.  It 
moveth  above  small  things.  Thou  dost  not  seek  riches 
here?" 

' '  I  have  enough ;  my  wants  are  few. ' ' 

"There  is  no  precedent  for  one  in  office  to  withhold 
his  hand  from  profit  and  backsheesh." 

"Shall  we  not  try  to  make  a  precedent?" 

"Truthfulness  will  be  desolate — like  a  bird  blown  to 
sea,  beating  'gainst  its  doom." 

"Truth  will  find  an  island  in  the  sea." 

"If  Egypt  is  that  sea,  Saadat,  there  is  no  island." 

David  came  over  close  to  Nahoum,  and  looked  him  in 
the  eyes. 

"Surely  I  can  speak  to  thee,  friend,  as  to  one  under- 
standing. Thou  art  a  Christian  —  of  the  ancient  fold. 
Out  of  the  East  came  the  light.  Thy  Church  has  pre- 
served the  faith.  It  is  still  like  a  lamp  in  the  mist  and 
the  cloud  in  the  East.  Thou  saidst  but  now  that  thy 
heart  was  with  my  purpose.  Shall  the  truth  that  I  would 
practise  here  not  find  an  island  in  this  sea — and  shall  it 
not  be  the  soul  of  Nahoum  Pasha?" 

"Have  I  not  given  my  word?  Nay,  then,  I  swear  it 
by  the  tomb  of  my  brother,  whom  Death  met  in  the 
highway,  and  because  he  loved  the  sun,  and  the  talk  of 
men,  and  the  ways  of  women,  rashly  smote  him  out  of 
the  garden  of  life  into  the  void.  Even  by  his  tomb  I 
swear  it." 

"Hast  thou,  then,  such  malice  against  Death?  These 
things  cannot  happen  save  by  the  will  of  God." 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"And  by  the  hand  of  man.  But  I  have  no  cause  for 
revenge.  Foorgat  died  in  his  sleep  like  a  child.  Yet  if 
it  had  been  the  hand  of  man,  Prince  Kaid  or  any  other, 
I  would  not  have  held  my  hand  until  I  had  a  life  for 
his." 

'Thou   art   a  Christian,  yet  thou  wouldst  meet  one 
wrong  by  another?" 

"I  am  an  Oriental."  Then,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  manner,  he  added:  "But  thou  hast  a  Christianity  the 
like  of  which  I  have  never  seen.  I  will  learn  of  thee, 
Saadat,  and  thou  shalt  learn  of  me  also  many  things 
which  I  know.  They  will  help  thee  to  understand  Egypt 
and  the  place  where  thou  wilt  be  set — if  so  be  my  life  is 
saved,  and  by  thy  hand." 

Mahommed  entered,  and  came  to  David. 

"Where  wilt  thou  sleep,  Saadat?"  he  asked. 

"The  pasha  will  sleep  yonder,"  David  replied,  point- 
ing to  another  room.  "I  will  sleep  here."  He  laid  a 
hand  upon  the  couch  where  he  sat. 

Nahoum  rose,  and,  salaaming,  followed  Mahommed  to 
the  other  room. 

In  a  few  moments  the  house  was  still,  and  remained 
so  for  hours.  Just  before  dawn  the  curtain  of  Nahoum's 
room  was  drawn  aside,  the  Armenian  entered  stealthily, 
and  moved  a  step  towards  the  couch  where  David  lay. 
Suddenly  he  was  stopped  by  a  sound.  He  glanced  tow- 
ards a  corner  near  David's  feet.  There  sat  Mahommed 
watching,  a  neboot  of  dom-wood  across  his  knees. 

Their  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  each  other  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  Nahoum  passed  back  into  his  bedroom  as 
stealthily  as  he  had  come. 

Mahommed  looked  closely  at  David.  He  lay  with  an 
arm  thrown  over  his  head,  resting  softly,  a  moisture  on 
his  forehead  as  on  that  of  a  sleeping  child. 

"Saadat!      Saadat!"   said  Mahommed   softly   to   the 

121 


THE    WEAVERS 

sleeping  figure,  scarcely  above  his  breath,  and  then,  with 
his  eyes  upon  the  curtained  room  opposite,  began  to 
whisper  words  from  the  Koran: 

"In  the  name  of  Allah,  the  Compassionate,  the  Merci- 
ful—" 


XI 

AGAINST     THE     HOUR     OF     MIDNIGHT 

Achmet  the  Rope-maker  was  ill  at  ease.  He  had 
been  set  a  task  in  which  he  had  failed.  The  bright 
Cairene  sun  starkly  glittering  on  the  French  chandeliers 
and  Viennese  mirrors,  and  beating  on  the  brass  trays 
and  braziers  by  the  window,  irritated  him.  He  watched 
the  flies  on  the  wall  abstractedly;  he  listened  to  the 
early  peripatetic  salesmen  crying  their  wares  in  the 
streets  leading  to  the  Palace;  he  stroked  his  cadaverous 
cheek  with  yellow  fingers;  he  listened  anxiously  for  a 
footstep.  Presently  he  straightened  himself  up,  and  his 
lingers  ran  down  the  front  of  his  coat  to  make  sure  that 
it  was  buttoned  from  top  to  bottom.  He  grew  a  little 
paler.  He  was  less  stoical  and  apathetic  than  most 
Egyptians.  Also  he  was  absurdly  vain,  and  he  knew 
that  his  vanity  would  receive  rough  usage. 

Now  the  door  swung  open,  and  a  portly  figure  entered 
quickly.     For  so  large  a  man  Prince  ECaid  was  Light  and 
subtle  in  his  movements.     His  face  was  mobile,  his 
keen  and  human. 

Achmel    salaamed  low.     "The  gardens  of  the   First 
Heaven  be  thine,  and  the  uttermost,  joy,  Effendina,"  he 
aid  elaborately. 

"A  thousand  colors  to  the  rainbow  of  thy  happiness," 
answered    Kaid  mechanically,  and   seated    himself  cross- 
ed on  a  divan,  taking  ;i   narghileh    from  the  black 
slave  who  had  glided  gho  tlike  behind  him. 

123 


THE    WEAVERS 

"What  hour  didst  thou  find  him?  Where  hast  thou 
placed  him?"  he  added,  after  a  moment. 

Achmet  salaamed  once  more.  "I  have  burrowed  with- 
out ceasing,  but  the  holes  are  empty,  Effendina,"  he 
returned,  abjectly  and  nervously. 

He  had  need  to  be  concerned.  The  reply  was  full 
of  amazement  and  anger.  "Thou  hast  not  found  him? 
Thou  hast  not  brought  Nahoum  to  me!"  Raid's  eyes 
were  growing  reddish;  no  good  sign  for  those  around 
him,  for  any  that  crossed  him  or  his  purpose. 

"A  hundred  eyes  failed  to  search  him  out.  Ten  thou- 
sand piastres  did  not  find  him;  the  kourbash  did  not 
reveal  him." 

Kaid's  frown  grew  heavier.  "Thou  shalt  bring  Na- 
houm to  me  by  midnight  to-morrow!" 

"But  if  he  has  escaped,  Effendina?"  Achmet  asked 
desperately.  He  had  a  peasant's  blood;  fear  of  power 
was  ingrained. 

'What  was  thy  business  but  to  prevent  escape?  Son 
of  a  Nile  crocodile,  if  he  has  escaped,  thou  too  shalt 
escape  from  Egypt  —  into  Fazougli.  Fool,  Nahoum  is 
no  coward!     He  would  remain.     He  is  in  Egypt." 

"If  he  be  in  Egypt,  I  will  find  him,  Effendina.  Have 
I  ever  failed  ?  When  thou  hast  pointed,  have  I  not 
brought  ?  Have  there  not  been  many,  Effendina  ? 
Should  I  not  bring  Nahoum,  who  has  held  over  our  heads 
the  rod?" 

Kaid  looked  at  him  meditatively,  and  gave  no  an- 
swer to  the  question.  "He  reached  too  far,"  he  mut- 
tered.    "Egypt  has  one  master  only." 

The  door  opened  softly  and  the  black  slave  stole  in. 
His  lips  moved,  but  scarce  a  sound  travelled  across  the 
room.  Kaid  understood,  and  made  a  gesture.  An  in- 
stant afterwards  the  vast  figure  of  High  Pasha  bulked 
into  the  room.  Again  there  were  elaborate  salutations 
and  salaams,  and  Kaid  presently  said: 

124 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Foorgat?" 

"Effendina,"  answered  Higii,  'it  is  not  known  how 
he  died.  He  was  in  this  Palace  ahve  at  night.  In  the 
morning  he  was  found  d*,ad  in  bed  at  his  own  home." 

"There  was  no  wound?' 

"None,  Effendina." 

"The  thong?" 

"There  was  no  mark,  Effendina." 

"Poison?" 

"There  was  no  sign,  Effendina." 

"Diamond-dust?" 

"Impossible,  Effendina.  There  was  not  time.  He 
was  alive  and  well  here  at  the  Palace  at  eleven,  and— 

Ka'id  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "By  the  stone  in 
the  Kaabah,  but  it  is  not  reasonable  that  Foorgat  should 
die  in  his  bed  like  a  babe  and  sleep  himself  into  heaven ! 
Fate  meant  him  for  a  violent  end ;  but  ere  that  came  there 
was  work  to  do  for  me.  He  had  a  gift  for  scenting 
treason  — and  he  had  treasure!"  His  eyes  shut  and 
opened  again  with  a  look  not  pleasant  to  see.  "But 
since  it  was  that  he  must  die  so  soon,  then  the  loan 
he  promised  must  now  be  a  gift  from  the  dead,  if  he 
be  dead,  if  he  be  not  shamming!  Foorgat  was  a  dire 
jester." 

"But  now  it  is  no  jest,  Effendina.  He  is  in  his 
grave." 

"In  his  grave!  Bismillah !  In  his  grave,  dost  thou 
say? 

Higli's  voice  quavered.  "Yesterday  before  sunset, 
Effendina.      By  Nahoum's  orders." 

"I  ordered  the  burial  for  to-day.  By  the  gads  of 
Hell,  but  who  shall  disobey  me!" 

"He  was  already  buried  when  the  Effendina's  orders 
came,"  High  pleaded  anxiously. 

"Nahoum  should  have  been  taken  yesterday,"  here- 
joined,  with  malice  in  his  eyes. 

125 


TH  E    WEAVERS 

"If  I  had  received  the  orders  of  the  Effendina  on  the 
night  when  the  Effendina  dismissed  Nahoum — '  Ach- 
met  said  softly,  and  broke  off. 

"A  curse  upon  thine  eyes  that  did  not  see  thy  duty!" 
Kaid  replied  gloomily.  Then  he  turned  to  High.  "My 
seal  has  been  put  upon  Foorgat's  doors?  His  treasure- 
places  have  been  found?  The  courts  have  been  com- 
manded as  to  his  estate — the  banks — ?" 

"It  was  too  late,  Effendina,"  replied  High  hope- 
lessly. 

Kaid  got  to  his  feet  slowly,  rage  possessing  him. 
"Too  late!     Who  makes  it  too  late  when  I  command?" 

"When  Foorgat  was  found  dead,  Nahoum  at  once 
seized  the  Palace  and  the  treasures.  Then  he  went  to 
the  courts  and  to  the  holy  men  and  claimed  succession. 
That  was  while  it  was  yet  early  morning.  Then  he  in- 
structed the  banks.  The  banks  hold  Foorgat's  fortune 
against  us,  Effendina." 

"Foorgat  was  a  Mohammedan.  Nahoum  is  a  Chris- 
tian. My  will  is  law.  Shall  a  Christian  dog  inherit  from 
a  true  believer?  The  courts,  the  Wakfs  shall  obey  me. 
And  thou,  son  of  a  burnt  father,  shalt  find  Nahoum! 
Kaid  shall  not  be  cheated.  Foorgat  pledged  the  loan. 
It  is  mine.  Allah  scorch  thine  eyes!"  he  added  fiercely 
to  Achmet,  "but  thou  shalt  find  this  Christian  gentle- 
man, Nahoum." 

Suddenly,  with  a  motion  of  disgust,  he  sat  down,  and 
taking  the  stem  of  the  narghileh,  puffed  vigorously  in 
silence.  Presently  in  a  red  fury  he  cried:  "Go — go — go, 
and  bring  me  back  by  midnight  Nahoum  and  Foorgat's 
treasures — to  the  last  piastre.  Let  every  soldier  be  a 
spy,  if  thine  own  spies  fail." 

As  they  turned  to   go,   the   door  opened   again,   the 
black  slave  appeared,  and  ushered  David  into  the  room. 
David  salaamed,  but  not  low,  and  stood  still. 
On  the  instant  Kaid  changed.     The  rage  left  his  face. 

126 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  leaned  forward  eagerly ;  the  cruel  and  ugly  look  faded 
slowly  from  his  eyes. 

"May  thy  days  of  life  be  as  a  river  with  sands  of 
gold,  effendi,"  he  said  gently.  He  had  a  voice  like 
music. 

"May  the  sun  shine  in  thy  heart  and  fruits  of  wis- 
dom nourish  there,  Effendina,"  answered  David  quietly. 
He  saluted  the  others  gravely,  and  his  eyes  rested  upon 
Achmet  in  a  way  which  High  Pasha  noted  for  subse- 
quent gossip. 

Kaid  pulled  at  his  narghileh  for  a  moment,  mumbling 
good-humoredly  to  himself  and  watching  the  smoke  reel 
away;  then,  with  half-shut  eyes,  he  said  to  David: 

"Am  I  master  in  Egypt  or  no,  effendi?" 

"In  ruling  this  people  the  Prince  of  Egypt  stands 
alone,"  answered  David.  "There  is  no  one  between 
him  and  the  people.     There  is  no   Parliament." 

"It  is  in  my  hand,  then,  to  give  or  to  withhold,  to 
make  or  to  break?"  Kaid  chuckled  to  have  this  tribute, 
as  he  thought,  from  a  Christian,  who  did  not  blink  at 
Oriental  facts,  and  was  honest. 

David  bowed  his  head  to  Raid's  words. 

"Then  if  it  be  my  hand  that  lifts  up  or  casts  down, 
that  rewards  or  that  punishes,  shall  my  arm  not  stretch 
into  the  darkest  corner  of  Egypt  to  bring  forth  a  traitor? 
Shall  it  not  be  so  r" 

"It  belongs  to  thy  power,"  answered  David.  "It  is 
the  ancient  custom  of  princes  here.  Custom  is  law, 
while  it  is  yet  the  custom." 

Kaid  looked  at  him  enigmatically  for  a  moment,  then 
smiled  grimly— he  saw  the  course  of  the  lance  which 
id  had  thrown.  He  Lent  his  look  fiercely  on  Achmet 
and  High.  "Ye  have  heard.  Truth  is  on  his  lips.  I 
have  stretched  out  my  arm.  Ye  are  my  arm,  to  reach 
for  ami  gather  in  Nahoum  and  all  thai  is  his."     He  turn 

1  quickly  to  David  again.      "I  have  given  this  hawk, 

1 27 


THE    WEAVERS 

Achmet,  till  to-morrow  night  to  bring  Nahoum  to  me," 
he  explained. 

"And  if  he  fails — a  penalty?  He  will  lose  his  place?" 
asked  David,  with  cold  humor. 

"More  than  his  place,"  Kaid  rejoined,  with  a  cruel  smile. 

"Then  is  his  place  mine,  Effendina,"  rejoined  David, 
with  a  look  which  could  give  Achmet  no  comfort. 

"Thou  wilt  bring  Nahoum — thou?"  asked  Ka'id,  in 
amazement. 

"I  have  brought  him,"  answered  David.  "Is  it  not 
my  duty  to  know  the  will  of  the  Effendina  and  to  do  it, 
when  it  is  just  and  right?" 

"Where  is  he — where  does  he  wait?"  questioned  Kaid 
eagerly. 

"Within  the  Palace  —  here,"  replied  David.  "He 
awaits  his  fate  in  thine  own  dwelling,  Effendina." 

Kaid  glowered  upon  Achmet.  "In  the  years  which 
Time,  the  Scytheman,  will  cut  from  thy  life,  think,  as 
thou  fastest  at  Ramadan  or  feastest  at  Beiram,  how 
Kaid  filled  thy  plate  when  thou  wast  a  beggar,  and  made 
thee  from  a  dog  of  a  fellah  into  a  pasha.  Go  to  thy 
dwelling,  and  come  here  no  more,"  he  added  sharply. 
"I  am  sick  of  thy  yellow,  sinful  face." 

Achmet  made  no  reply,  but  as  he  passed  beyond  the 
door  with  High,  he  said  in  a  whisper:  "Come — to  Har- 
rik  and  the  army!  He  shall  be  deposed.  The  hour  is  at 
hand!"  High  answered  him  faintly,  however.  He  had 
not  the  courage  of  the  true  conspirator,  traitor  though 
he  was. 

As  they  disappeared,  Kaid  made  a  wide  gesture  of 
friendliness  to  David,  and  motioned  to  a  seat,  then  to  a 
narghileh.  David  seated  himself,  took  the  stem  of  a 
narghileh  in  his  mouth  for  an  instant,  then  laid  it  down 
again  and  waited. 

"Nahoum — I  do  not  understand,"  Kaid  said  presently, 
his  eyes  gloating. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"He  comes  of  his  own  will,  Effendina." 

"Wherefore?"  Kai'd  could  not  realize  the  truth.  This 
truth  was  not  Oriental  on  the  face  of  it. 

"Effendina,  he  comes  to  place  his  life  in  thy  hands. 
He  would  speak  with  thee." 

"How  is  it  thou  dost  bring  him?" 

"He  sought  me  to  plead  for  him  with  your  Highness, 
and  because  I  knew  his  peril,  I  kept  him  with  me  and 
brought  him  hither  but  now." 

"Nahoum  went  to  thee!"  Kaid's  eyes  peered  abstract- 
edly into  the  distance  between  the  almost  shut  lids. 
That  Nahoum  should  seek  David,  who  had  displaced 
him  from  his  high  office,  was  scarcely  Oriental,  when  his 
every  cue  was  to  have  revenge  on  his  rival.  This  was  a 
natural  sequence  to  his  downfall.  It  was  understand- 
able. Rut  here  was  David  safe  and  sound.  Was  it, 
then,  some  deeper  scheme  of  future  vengeance?  The 
Oriental  instinctively  pierced  the  mind  of  the  Orient al. 
He  could  have  realized  fully  the  fierce,  blinding  passion 
for  revenge  which  had  almost  overcome  Nahoum's  calcu- 
lating mind  in  the  dark  night,  with  his  foe  in  the  next 
room,  which  had  driven  him  suddenly  from  his  bed  to 
fall  upon  David,  only  to  find  Mahommed  Hassan  watch- 
ing— also  with  the  instinct  of  the  Oriental. 

Some  future  scheme  of  revenge  ?  Kaid's  eyes  gleamed 
red.     There  would  be  no  future  for  Nahoum/ 

"  Why  did  Nahoum  go  to  thee  ?"  he  asked  again  presently. 

"That  I  might  beg  his  life  of  thee,  Highness,  as  I 
said,"  David  replied. 

"I  have  not  ordered  his  death." 

David  looked  meditatively  at  him.  "Tt  was  agreed 
between  us  yesterday  that  I  should  speak  plainly — is  it 
not  so?" 

Kaid  nodded,  and  leaned  back  among  the  cushions. 
'If  what  the  Effendina  intends  is  fulfilled,  there  is  no 
other  way  but  death  for  Nahoum,"  added  David. 

i  •  i 


THE    WEAVER S 

"What  is  my  intention,  effendi?" 

"To  confiscate  the  fortune  left  by  Foorgat  Bey.  Is  it 
not  so?" 

"I  had  a  pledge  from  Foorgat — a  loan." 

"That  is  the  merit  of  the  case,  Effendina.  I  am  other- 
wise concerned.  There  is  the  law.  Nahoum  inherits. 
Shouldst  thou  send  him  to  Fazougli,  he  would  still  inherit." 

"He  is  a  traitor." 

"Highness,  where  is  the  proof?" 

"I  know.  My  friends  have  disappeared  one  by  one — 
Nahoum.  Lands  have  been  alienated  from  me — Na- 
houm. My  income  has  declined  —  Nahoum.  I  have 
given  orders  and  they  have  not  been  fulfilled — Nahoum. 
Always,  always  some  rumor  of  assassination,  or  of  con- 
spiracy, or  the  influence  and  secret  agents  of  the  Sultan 
— all  Nahoum.  He  is  a  traitor.  He  has  grown  rich 
while  I  borrow  from  Europe  to  pay  my  army  and  to 
meet  the  demands  of  the  Sultan." 

"What  man  can  offer  evidence  in  this  save  the 
Effendina  who  would  profit  by  his  death?" 

"I  speak  of  what  I  know.  I  satisfy  myself.  It  is 
enough." 

"Highness,  there  is  a  better  way.  to  satisfy  the  people, 
for  whom  thee  lives.  None  should  stand  between.  Is 
not  the  Effendina  a  father  to  them?" 

"The  people!  Would  they  not  say  Nahoum  had  got 
his  due  if  he  were  blotted  from  their  sight?" 

"None  has  been  so  generous  to  the  poor,  so  it  is  said 
by  all.  His  hand  has  been  upon  the  rich  only.  Now, 
Effendina,  he  has  brought  hither  the  full  amount  of  all 
he  has  received  and  acquired  in  thy  service.  He  would 
offer  it  in  tribute." 

Kaid  smiled  sardonically.  "It  is  a  thin  jest.  When 
a  traitor  dies  the  state  confiscates  his  goods!" 

"Thee  calls  him  traitor.  Does  thee  believe  he  has 
ever  conspired  against  thy  life?" 

130 


THE    WEAVERS 

Kaid  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Let  me  answer  for  thee,  Effendina.  Again  and  again 
he  has  defeated  conspiracy.  He  has  blotted  it  out — by 
the  sword  and  other  means.  He  has  been  a  faithful  ser- 
vant to  his  prince  at  least.  If  he  has  done  after  the 
manner  of  all  others  in  power  here,  the  fault  is  in  the 
system,  not  in  the  man  alone.  He  has  been  a  friend  to 
thee,  Kaid." 

"I  hope  to  find  in  thee  a  better." 

"Why  should  he  not  live?" 

"Thou  hast  taken  his  place." 

"Is  it,  then,  the  custom  to  destroy  those  who  have 
served  thee,  when  they  cease  to  serve?"  David  rose  to 
his  feet  quickly.  His  face  was  shining  with  a  strange 
excitement.  It  gave  him  a  look  of  exaltation,  his  lips 
quivered  with  indignation.  "Does  thee  kill  because  there 
is  silence  in  the  grave?" 

Kaid  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  slowly.  "Silence  in  the 
grave  is  a  fact  beyond  dispute,"  he  said  cynically. 

"Highness,  thee  changes  servants  not  seldom,"  re- 
joined David  meaningly.  "It  may  be  that  my  service 
will  be  short.  When  I  go,  will  the  long  arm  reach  out 
for  me  in  the  burrows  where  I  shall  hide!" 

Kaid  looked  at  him  with  ill-concealed  admiration. 
'Thou  art  an  Englishman,  not  an  Egyptian;  a  guest,  not 
a  subject,  and  under  no  law  save  my  friendship."  Then 
he  added  scornfully:  "When  an  Englishman  in  Eng- 
land leaves  office,  no  matter  how  unfaithful,  though  he 
be  a  friend  of  any  country  save  his  ownr  they  send  him 
to  the  House  of  Lords — or  so  I  was  told  in  France  when 
I  was  there.  What  does  it  matter  to  thee  what  chances 
toNahoum?  Thou  hast  his  place  with  me.  My  secrets 
are  thine.  They  shall  he  all  thine — -for  years  I  have 
ought  an  honest  man.  Thou  art  safe  whether  to  go  or 
to   stay." 

"It  may  be  so.      I  heed  it  not       My  life  is  as  that  of  a 

131 


THE    WEAVERS 

gull— if  the  wind  carry  it  out  to  sea,  it  is  lost!  As  my 
uncle  went  I  shall  go  one  day.  Thee  will  never  do  me 
ill,  but  do  I  not  know  that  I  shall  have  foes  at  every 
corner,  behind  every  mooshrabieh  screen,  on  every  mas- 
taba,  in  the  pasha's  courtyard,  by  every  mosque  ?  Do  I 
not  know  in  what  peril  I  serve  Egypt?" 

'Yet  thou  wouldst  keep  alive  Nahoum!     He  will  dig 
thy  grave  deep,  and  wait  long." 

"He  will  work  with  me  for  Egypt,  Effendina." 

Kaid's  face   darkened.     "What   is  thy  meaning?" 

"I  ask  Nahoum 's  life  that  he  may  serve  under  me,  to  do 
those  things  thou  and  I  planned  yesterday — the  land, 
taxation,  the  army,  agriculture,  the  Soudan!  Together 
we  will  make  Egypt  better  and  greater  and  richer — the 
poor  richer,  even  though  the  rich  be  poorer." 

"And  Kaid — poorer?" 

"When  Egypt  is  richer,  the  Prince  is  richer,  too.  Is 
not  the  Prince  Egypt  ?  Highness,  yesterday — yesterday 
thee  gave  me  my  commission.  If  thee  will  not  take 
Nahoum  again  into  service  to  aid  me,  I  must  not  remain. 
I  cannot  work  alone." 

"Thou  must  have  this  Christian  Oriental  to  work 
with  thee?"  He  looked  at  David  closely,  then  smiled 
sardonically,  but  with  friendliness  to  David  in  his  eyes. 
"Nahoum  has  prayed  to  work  with  thee,  to  be  a  slave 
where  he  was  master?  He  says  to  thee  that  he  would 
lay  his  heart  upon  the  altar  of  Egypt  ?"  Mordant,  ques- 
tioning humor  was  in  his  voice. 

David  inclined  his  head. 

"He  would  give  up  all  that  is  his?" 

"It  is  so,  Effendina." 

"All  save  Foorgat's  heritage?" 

"It  belonged  to  their  father.     It  is  a  due  inheritance." 

Kaid  laughed  sarcastically.  "It  was  got  in  Mehemet 
Ali's  service." 

"Nathless,  it  is  a  heritage,  Effendina.     He  would  give 

132 


THE    WEAVERS 

that  fortune  back  again  to  Egypt  in  work  with  me,  as  I 
shall  give  of  what  is  mine,  and  of  what  I  am,  in  the  name 
of  God,  the  all- merciful!" 

The  smile  faded  out  of  Ka'id's  face,  and  wonder  settled 
on  it.  What  manner  of  man  was  this!  His  life,  his  fort- 
une for  Egypt,  a  country  alien  to  him,  which  he  had 
never  seen  till  six  months  ago!  What  kind  of  being  was 
behind  the  dark,  fiery  eyes  and  the  pale,  impassioned  face  ? 
Was  he  some  new  prophet?  If  so,  why  should  he  not 
have  cast  a  spell  upon  Nahoum  ?  Had  he  not  bewitched 
himself,  Kaid,  one  of  the  ablest  princes  since  Alexander 
or  Amenhotep  ?  Had  Nahoum,  then,  been  mastered  and 
won  ?  Was  ever  such  power  ?  In  how  many  ways  had 
it  not  been  shown!  He  had  fought  for  his  uncle's  fort- 
une, and  had  got  it  at  last  yesterday  without  a  penny  of 
backsheesh.  Having  got  his  will,  he  was  now  ready  to 
give  that  same  fortune  to  the  good  of  Egypt — but  not  to 
beys  and  pashas  and  eunuchs  (and  that  he  should  have 
escaped  Mizraim  was  the  marvel  beyond  all  others!),  or 
even  to  the  Prince  Pasha;  but  to  that  which  would  make 
"Egypt  better  and  greater  and  richer — the  poor  richer, 
even  if  the  rich  be  poorer!"  Kaid  chuckled  to  himself 
at  that.  To  make  the  rich  poorer  would  suit  him  well, 
so  long  as  he  remained  rich.  And,  if  riches  could  be  got, 
as  this  pale  Frank  proposed,  by  less  extortion  from  the 
fellah  and  less  kourbash,  so  much  the  happier  for  all. 

He  was  capable  of  patriotism,  and  this  Quaker  dreamer 
had  stirred  it  in  him  a  little.  Egypt,  industrial  in  a  real 
sense;  Egypt,  paying  her  own  way  without  tyranny  and 
loans;  Egypt,  without  corvee,  and  with  an  army  hired 
from  a  full  public  purse;  Egypt,  grown  strong  and  able 
to  resist  the  suzerainty  and  cruel  tribute — that  touched 
his  native  goodness  of  heart,  so  long  in  disguise;  it  ap- 
pealed to  the  sense  of  leadership  in  him;  to  the  love  of 
the  soil  deep  in  his  bones;  to  regard  for  the  common 
people — for  was  not  his  mother  a  slave?     Some  distant 

*33 


THE    WEAVERS 

nobleness  trembled  in  him,  while  yet  the  arid  humor  of 
the  situation  flashed  into  his  eyes,  and,  getting  to  his 
feet,  he  said  to  David:  "Where  is  Nahoum?" 

David  told  him,  and  he  clapped  his  hands.  The  black 
slave  entered,  received  an  order,  and  disappeared.  Nei- 
ther spoke,  but  Kaid's  face  was  full  of  cheerfulness. 

Presently  Nahoum  entered  and  salaamed  low,  then 
put  his  hand  upon  his  turban.  There  was  submission, 
but  no  cringing  or  servility  in  his  manner.  His  blue 
eyes  looked  fearlessly  before  him.  His  face  was  not 
paler  than  its  wont.     He  waited  for  Kaid  to  speak. 

"Peace  be  to  thee,"  Kaid  murmured  mechanically. 

"And  to  thee,  peace,  0  Prince,"  answered  Nahoum. 
"May  the  feet  of  Time  linger  by  thee,  and  Death  pass  thy 
house  forgetful!" 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Kaid  spoke 
again.  "What  are  thy  properties  and  treasure?"  he 
asked  sternly. 

Nahoum  drew  forth  a  paper  from  his  sleeve  and 
handed  it  to  Kaid  without  a  word.  Kaid  glanced  at  it 
hurriedly,  then  said:  "This  is  but  nothing.  What  hast 
thou  hidden  from  me?" 

"It  is  all  I  have  got  in  thy  service,  Highness,"  he 
answered  boldly.  "All  else  I  have  given  to  the  poor; 
also  to  spies — and  to  the  army." 

"To  spies — and  to  the  army?"  asked  Kaid  slowly, 
incredulously. 

"Wilt  thou  come  with  me  to  the  window,  Effen- 
dina?" 

Kaid,  wondering,  went  to  the  great  windows  which 
looked  on  to  the  Palace  square.  There,  drawn  up,  were 
a  thousand  mounted  men  as  black  as  ebony,  wearing 
shining  white  metal  helmets  and  fine  chain-armor  and 
swords  and  lances,  like  medieval  crusaders.  The  horses, 
too,  were  black,  and  the  mass  made  a  barbaric  display 
belonging  more  to  another  period  in  the  world's  history. 

134 


THE    WEAVERS 

This  regiment  of  Nubians  Kaid  had  recruited  from  the 
far  south,  and  had  maintained  at  his  own  expense. 
When  they  saw  him  at  the  window  now,  their  swords 
clashed  on  their  thighs  and  across  their  breasts,  and 
they  raised  a  great  shout  of  greeting. 

"Well?"  asked  Kaid,  with  a  ring  to  the  voice. 

' ' They  are  loyal,  Effendina,  every  man.  But  the  army 
otherwise  is  honeycombed  with  treason.  Effendina,  my 
money  has  been  busy  in  the  army  paying  and  bribing 
officers,  and  my  spies  were  costly.  There  has  been  sedi- 
tion— conspiracy ;  but  until  I  could  get  the  full  proofs  I 
waited ;  I  could  but  bribe  and  wait.  Were  it  not  for  the 
money  I  had  spent,  there  might  have  been  another  Prince 
of  Egypt." 

Kaid's  face  darkened.  He  was  startled,  too.  He  had 
been  taken  unaware.     "My  brother  Harrik— !" 

"And  I  should  have  lost  my  place,  lost  all  for  which 
I  cared.  I  had  no  love  for  money;  it  was  but  a  means. 
I  spent  it  for  the  state — for  the  Effendina,  and  to  keep 
my  place.     I  lost  my  place,  however,  in  another  way." 

"Proofs!  Proofs!"  Kaid's  voice  was  hoarse  with 
feeling. 

"I  have  no  proofs  against  Prince  Harrik,  no  word 
upon  paper.  But  there  are  proofs  that  the  army  is 
seditious,  that  at  any  moment  it  may  revolt." 

"Thou  hast  kept  this  secret?"  questioned  Kaid  dark- 
ly and  suspiciously. 

"The  time  had  not  come.  Read,  Effendina,"  he  added, 
handing  some  papers  over. 

"But  it  is  the  whole  army!"  said  Kaid  aghast,  as  he 
read.     He  was  convinced. 

"There  is  only  one  guilty!"  returned  Nahoum.  Their 
eyes  met.  Oriental  fatalism  met  inveterate  Oriental  dis- 
trust,  and  then  instinctively  Kaid's  eves  turned  to  David. 
In  the  eyes  of  the  Inglesi  was  a  different  thing. 

The  test  of  the  new  relationship  had  come. 

135 


THE    WEAVERS 

Ferocity  was  in  his  heart,  a  vitriolic  note  was  in  his 
voice  as  he  said  to  David:  "If  this  be  true — the  army- 
rotten,  the  officers  disloyal,  treachery  under  every  tunic 
— bismillah,  speak!" 

"Shall  it  not  be  one  thing  at  a  time,  Effendina?"  asked 
David.     He  made  a  gesture  towards  Nahoum. 

Raid  motioned  to  a  door.  "Wait  yonder,"  he  said 
darkly  to  Nahoum.  As  the  door  opened,  and  Nahoum 
disappeared  leisurely  and  composedly,  David  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  guard  of  armed  Nubians  in  leopard-skins 
filed  against  the  white  wall  of  the  other  room. 

"What  is  thy  intention  towards  Nahoum,  Effendina?" 
David  asked  presently. 

Raid's  voice  was  impatient.  "Thou  hast  asked  his 
life — take  it;  it  is  thine;  but  if  I  find  him  within  these 
walls  again  until  I  give  him  leave,  he  shall  go  as  Foorgat 
went." 

"What  was  the  manner  of  Foorgat's  going?"  asked 
David  quietly. 

"As  a  wind  blows  through  a  courtyard  and  the  lamp 
goes  out,  so  he  went,  in  the  night.  Who  can  say? 
Wherefore  speculate!  He  is  gone.  It  is  enough.  Were 
it  not  for  thee,  Egypt  should  see  Nahoum  no  more." 

David  sighed,  and  his  eyes  closed  for  an  instant. 
"Effendina,  Nahoum  has  proved  his  faith  —  is  it  not 
so?"     He  pointed  to  the  documents  in  Raid's  hands. 

A  grim  smile  passed  over  Raid's  face.  Distrust  of  hu- 
manity, incredulity,  cold  cynicism,  were  in  it.  "Wheels 
within  wheels,  proofs  within  proofs,"  he  said.  "Thou 
hast  yet  to  learn  the  Eastern  heart.  When  thou  seest 
white  in  the  East,  call  it  black,  for  in  an  instant  it  will 
be  black.  Malaish,  it  is  the  East!  Have  I  not  trusted 
— did  I  not  mean  well  by  all?  Did  I  not  deal  justly? 
Yet  my  justice  was  but  darkness  of  purpose,  the  hidden 
terror  to  them  all.  So  did  I  become  what  thou  findest 
me  and  dost  believe  me — a  tyrant,  in  whose  name  a 

136 


THE    WEAVERS 

thousand  do  evil  things  of  which  I  neither  hear  nor 
know.  Proof!  When  a  woman  lies  in  your  arms  it  is 
not  the  moment  to  prove  her  fidelity.  Nahoum  has 
crawled  back  to  my  feet  with  these  things,  and  by  the 
beard  of  the  Prophet  they  are  truel"  He  looked  at  the 
papers  with  loathing.  "But  what  his  purpose  was  when 
he  spied  upon  and  bribed  my  army  I  know  not.  Yet, 
it  shall  be  said,  he  has  held  Harrik  back — Harrik,  my 
brother.  Son  of  Sheitan  and  slime  of  the  Nile,  have  I 
not  spared  Harrik  all  these  years!" 

"Hast  thou  proof,  Effendina?" 

"I  have  proof  enough;  I  shall  have  more  soon.  To 
save  their  lives,  these,  these  will  tell — I  have  their  names 
here!"  He  tapped  the  papers.  "There  are  ways  to 
make  them  tell.  Now,  speak,  effendi,  and  tell  me  what 
I  shall  do  to  Harrik." 

"Wouldst  thou  proclaim  to  Egypt,  to  the  Sultan,  to 
the  world  that  the  army  is  disloyal?  If  these  guilty 
men  are  seized,  can  the  army  be  trusted?  Will  it  not 
break  away  in  fear?  Yonder  Nubians  are  not  enough 
a  handful  lost  in  the  melee.  Prove  the  guilt  of  him  who 
perverted  the  army  and  sought  to  destroy  thee.  Punish 
him." 

"How  shall  there  be  proof  save  through  those  whom 
he  has  perverted?     There  is  no  writing." 

"There  is  proof,"  answered  David  calmly. 

"Where  shall  I  find  it  ?"  Kaid  laughed  contemptuously. 

"I  have  the  proof,"  answered  David  gravely. 

"Against  Harrik?" 

"Against  Prince  Harrik  Pasha." 

"Thou — what  dost  thou  know?" 

"A  woman  of  the  Prince  heard  him  give  instructions 
for  thy  disposal,  Effendina,  when  the  Citadel  should 
turn  its  guns  upon  Cairo  and  the  Palace.  She  was  once 
of  thy  harem.  Thou  didst  give  her  in  marriage,  and  she 
came  to  the  harem  of  Prince  Harrik  at  last.     A  woman 

137 


THE    WEAVERS 

from  without  who  sang  to  her — a  singing  girl,  an  aVmah 
— she  trusted  with  the  paper  to  warn  thee,  Effendina,  in 
her  name.  Her  heart  had  remembrance  of  thee.  Her 
foster-brother  Mahommed  Hassan  is  my  servant.  Him 
she  told,  and  Mahommed  laid  the  matter  before  me  this 
morning.  Here  is  a  sign  by  which  thee  will  remember 
her,  so  she  said.  Zaida  she  was  called  here."  He 
handed  over  an  amulet  which  had  one  red  gem  in  the 
centre. 

Kaid's  face  had  set  into  fierce  resolution,  but  as  he 
took  the  amulet  his  eyes  softened. 

"Zaida.  Inshallah!  Zaida  she  was  called.  She  has 
the  truth  almost  of  the  English.  She  could  not  lie  ever. 
My  heart  smote  me  concerning  her,  and  I  gave  her  in 
marriage."  Then  his  face  darkened  again,  and  his  teeth 
showed  in  malice.  A  demon  was  roused  in  him.  He 
might  long  ago  have  banished  the  handsome  and  in- 
sinuating Harrik,  but  he  had  allowed  him  wealth  and 
safety — and  now  .  .  .  ! 

His  intention  was  unmistakable. 

"He  shall  die  the  death,"  he  said.  "Is  it  not  so?" 
he  added  fiercely  to  David,  and  gazed  at  him  fixedly. 
Would  this  man  of  peace  plead  for  the  traitor,  the  would- 
be  fratricide? 

"He  is  a  traitor;  he  must  die,"  answered  David  slowly. 

Kaid's  eyes  showed  burning  satisfaction.  "If  he  were 
thy  brother,  thou  wouldst  kill  him?" 

"I  would  give  a  traitor  to  death  for  the  country's 
sake.     There  is  no  other  way." 

"To-night  he  shall  die." 

"But  with  due  trial,  Effendina?" 

"Trial — is  not  the  proof  sufficient?" 

"But  if  he  confess,  and  give  evidence  himself,  and  so 
offer  himself  to  die?" 

"Is  Harrik  a  fool?"  answered  Kaid,  with  scorn. 

"If  there  be  a  trial  and  sentence  is  given,  the  truth 

138 


THE    WEAVERS 

concerning  the  army  must  appear.    Is  that  well  ?    Egypt 
will  shake  to  its  foundations — to  the  joy  of  its  enemies." 

"Then  he  shall  die  secretly." 

' '  The  Prince  Pasha  of  Egypt  will  be  called  a  murderer. ' ' 

Kaid  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  Sultan — Europe — is  it  well?" 

"I  will  tell  the  truth,"  Kaid  rejoined  angrily. 

"If  the  Effendina  will  trust  me,  Prince  Harrik  shall 
confess  his  crime  and  pay  the  penalty  also." 

"What  is  thy  purpose?" 

"I  will  go  to  his  palace  and  speak  with  him." 

"Seize  him?" 

"I  have  no  power  to  seize  him,  Effendina." 

"I  will  give  it.     My  Nubians  shall  go  also." 

"Effendina,  I  will  go  alone.  It  is  the  only  way. 
There  is  great  danger  to  the  throne.  Who  can  tell  what 
a  night  will  bring  forth?3' 

"If  Harrik  should  escape — " 

"If  I  were  an  Egyptian  and  permitted  Harrik  to 
escape,  my  life  would  pay  for  my  failure.  If  I  failed, 
thou  wouldst  not  succeed.  If  I  am  to  serve  Egypt,  there 
must  be  trust  in  me  from  thee,  or  it  were  better  to  pause 
now.  If  I  go,  as  I  shall  go,  alone,  I  put  my  life  in  dan- 
ger— is  it  not  sor" 

Suddenly  Kaid  sat  down  again  among  his  cushions. 

"Inshallah!  In  the  name  of  God,  be  it  so.  Thou 
art  not  as  other  men.  There  is  something  in  thee  above 
my  thinking.     But  I  will  not  sleep  till  I  see  thee  again." 

"I  shall  see  thee  at  midnight,  Effendina.  Give  me 
the  ring  from  thy  finger." 

Kaid  passed  it  over,  and  David  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  turned  to  go. 

"Nahoum?"  he  asked. 

"Take  him  hence.  Let  him  serve  thee  if  it  be  thy 
will.  Yet  I  cannot  understand  it.  The  play  is  dark. 
Is  he  not  an  Oriental?" 

139 


THE    WEAVERS 

"He  is  a  Christian." 

Kaid  laughed  sourly,  and  clapped  his  hands  for  the 
slave. 

In  a  moment  David  and  Nahoum  were  gone. 

"Nahoum,  a  Christian!  Bismillah!"  murmured  Kaid 
scornfully,  then  fell  to  pondering  darkly  over  the  evil 
things  he  had  heard. 

Meanwhile  the  Nubians  in  their  glittering  armor  waited 
without  in  the  blistering  square. 


XII 

THE    JEHAD    AND    THE    LIONS 

"Allah  hu  Achbar!  Allah  hu  Achbar!  Ashhadu  an 
la  illaha  illalla!"  The  sweetly  piercing,  resonant  voice 
of  the  Muezzin  rang  far  and  commandingly  on  the  clear 
evening  air,  and  from  bazaar  and  crowded  street  the 
faithful  silently  hurried  to  the  mosques,  leaving  their 
slippers  at  the  door,  while  others  knelt  where  the  call 
found  them,  and  touched  their  foreheads  to  the  ground. 

In  his  palace  by  the  Nile,  Harrik,  the  half-brother  of 
the  Prince  Pasha,  heard  it,  and  breaking  off  from  con- 
versation with  two  urgent  visitors,  passed  to  an  alcove 
near,  dropping  a  curtain  behind  him.  Kneeling  rever- 
ently on  the  solitary  furniture  of  the  room — a  prayer- 
rug  from  Medina — he  lost  himself  as  completely  in  his 
devotions  as  though  his  life  were  an  even  current  of  un- 
forbidden acts  and  motives. 

Cross-legged  on  the  great  divan  of  the  room  he  had 
left,  his  less  pious  visitors,  unable  to  turn  their  thoughts 
from  the  dark  business  on  which  they  had  come,  smoked 
their  cigarettes,  talking  to  each  other  in  tones  so  low 
as  would  not  have  been  heard  by  a  European,  and  with 
apparent  listlessness. 

Their  manner  would  not  have  indicated  that  they 
were  weighing  matters  of  life  and  death,  of  treason  and 
infamy,  of  massacre  and  national  shame.  Only  the 
sombre,  smouldering  fire  of  their  eyes  was  evidence  of 
the  lighted  fuse  of  conspiracy  burning  towards  the  maga- 

141 


THE    WEAVERS 

zine.  One  look  of  surprise  had  been  exchanged  when 
Harrik  Pasha  left  them  suddenly — time  was  short  for 
what  they  meant  to  do;  but  they  were  Muslims,  and  they 
resigned  themselves. 

' '  The  Inglesi  must  be  the  first  to  go ;  shall  a  Christian 
dog  rule  over  us?" 

It  was  Achmet  the  Rope-maker  who  spoke,  his  yellow 
face  wrinkling  with  malice,  though  his  voice  but  mur- 
mured hoarsely.  • 

"Nahoum  will  kill  him."  High  Pasha  laughed  low- 
it  was  like  the  gurgle  of  water  in  the  narghileh — -a  voice 
of  good  nature  and  persuasiveness  from  a  heart  that 
knew  no  virtue.  "Bismillah!  Who  shall  read  the  mean- 
ing of  it?     Why  has  he  not  already  killed?" 

"Nahoum  would  choose  his  own  time — after  he  has 
saved  his  life  by  the  white  carrion.  Ka'id  will  give  him 
his  life  if  the  Inglesi  asks.  The  Inglesi,  he  is  mad.  If 
he  were  not  mad,  he  would  see  to  it  that  Nahoum  was 
now  drying  his  bones  in  the  sands." 

"What  each  has  failed  to  do  for  the  other  shall  be 
done  for  them,"  answered  Achmet,  a  hateful  leer  on  his 
immobile  features.  "To-night  many  things  shall  be  made 
right.  To-morrow  there  will  be  places  empty  and  places 
filled.     Egypt  shall  begin  again  to-morrow." 

"Kaid?" 

Achmet  stopped  smoking  for  a  moment.  "When  the 
khamsin  comes,  when  the  camels  stampede,  and  the  chil- 
dren of  the  storm  fall  upon  the  caravan,  can  it  be  fore- 
told in  what  way  Fate  shall  do  her  work?  So  but  the 
end  be  the  same — malaish!  We  shall  be  content  to- 
morrow." 

Now  he  turned  and  looked  at  his  companion  as  though 
his  mind  had  chanced  on  a  discovery.  "To  him  who 
first  brings  word  to  a  prince  who  inherits,  that  the  reign- 
ing prince  is  dead,  belong  honor  and  place!"  he  said. 

"Then  shall  it  be  between  us  twain,"  said  High,  and 

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THE    WEAVERS 

laid  his  hot  palm  against  the  cold,  snaky  palm  of  the 
other.  "And  he  to  whom  the  honor  falls  shall  help  the 
other." 

"Aiwa,  but  it  shall  be  so,"  answered  Achmet,  and  then 
they  spoke  in  lower  tones  still,  their  eyes  on  the  curtain 
behind  which  Harrik  prayed. 

Presently  Harrik  entered,  impassive,  yet  alert,  his 
slight,  handsome  figure  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  men 
lounging  in  the  cushions  before  him,  who  salaamed  as  he 
came  forward.  The  features  were  finely  chiselled,  the 
forehead  white  and  high,  the  lips  sensuous,  the  eyes  fa- 
natical, the  look  concentrated  yet  abstracted.  He  took 
a  seat  among  the  cushions,  and — after  a  moment — said 
to  Achmet  in  a  voice  abnormally  deep  and  powerful, 
"Diaz — there  is  no  doubt  of  Diaz?" 

"  He  awaits  the  signal.  The  hawk  flies  not  swifter  than 
Diaz  will  act." 

"The  people — the  bazaars — the  markets?" 

"As  the  air  stirs  a  moment  before  the  hurricane  comes, 
so  the  whisper  has  stirred  them.  From  one  lip  to  another, 
from  one  street  to  another,  from  one  quarter  to  another, 
the  word  has  been  passed — 'Nahoum  was  a  Christian, 
but  Nahoum  was  an  Egyptian  whose  heart  was  Muslim. 
The  stranger  is  a  Christian  and  an  Inglesi.  Reason  has 
fled  from  the  Prince  Pasha,  the  Inglesi  has  bewitched 
him.  But  the  hour  of  deliverance  draweth  nigh.  Be 
ready!     To-night!'     So  has  the  whisper  gone." 

Harrik's  eyes  burned.  "God  is  great,"  he  said.  "The 
time  has  come.  The  Christians  spoil  us.  From  France, 
from  England,  from  Austria — it  is  enough.  Kaid  has 
handed  us  over  to  the  Greek  usurers,  the  Inglesi  and  the 
Frank  are  everywhere.  And  now  this  new-comer  who 
would  rule  Kaid,  and  lay  his  hand  upon  Egypt  like  Jo- 
seph of  old,  and  bring  back  Nahoum,  to  the  shame  of 
every  Muslim — behold,  the  spark  is  to  the  tinder,  it  shall 
burn." 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"And  the  hour,  Effendina?" 

"At  midnight.  The  guns  to  be  trained  on  the  Citadel, 
the  Palace  surrounded.     Raid's  Nubians?" 

"A  hundred  will  be  there,  Effendina,  the  rest  a  mile 
away  at  their  barracks."  Achmet  rubbed  his  cold  palms 
together  in  satisfaction. 

"And  Prince  Kaid,  Effendina?"  asked  High  cau- 
tiously. 

The  fanatical  eyes  turned  away.  "The  question  is 
foolish — have  ye  no  brains?"  he  said  impatiently. 

A  look  of  malignant  triumph  flashed  from  Achmet 
to  High,  and  he  said,  scarce  above  a  whisper:  "May 
thy  footsteps  be  as  the  wings  of  the  eagle,  Effen- 
dina. The  heart  of  the  pomegranate  is  not  redder  than 
our  hearts  are  red  for  thee.  Cut  deep  into  our  hearts, 
and  thou  shalt  find  the  last  beat  is  for  thee — and  for  the 
Jehad  I" 

"The  Jehad — ay,  the  Jehad!  The  time  is  at  hand," 
answered  Harrik,  glowering  at  the  two.  "The  sword 
shall  not  be  sheathed  till  we  have  redeemed  Egypt.  Go 
your  ways,  effendis,  and  peace  be  on  you  and  on  all  the 
righteous  worshippers  of  God!" 

As  High  and  Achmet  left  the  palace,  the  voice  of  a 
holy  man — admitted  everywhere  and  treated  with  rever- 
ence—  chanting  the  Koran,  came  somnolently  through 
the  courtyard:  "  Bismillah  hirrahmah,  nirraheem.  El- 
hamdu  lillahi  subtila!" 

Rocking  his  body  backwards  and  forwards  and  dwell- 
ing sonorously  on  each  vowel,  the  holy  man  seemed  the 
incarnation  of  Muslim  piety ;  but  as  the  two  conspirators 
passed  him  with  scarce  a  glance,  and  made  their  way 
to  a  small  gate  leading  into  the  great  garden  bordering 
on  the  Nile,  his  eyes  watched  them  sharply.  When  they 
had  passed  through,  he  turned  towards  the  windows  of 
the  harem,  still  chanting.  For  a  long  time  he  chanted. 
An  occasional  servant  came  and  went,  but  his  voice 

144 


THE    WEAVERS 

ceased  not,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  ever  on  the  harem 
windows. 

At  last  his  watching  had  its  reward.  Something  flut- 
tered from  a  window  to  the  ground.  Still  chanting,  he 
rose  and  began  walking  round  the  great  courtyard. 
Twice  he  went  round,  still  chanting,  but  the  third  time 
he  stooped  to  pick  up  a  little  strip  of  linen  which  had 
fallen  from  the  window,  and  concealed  it  in  his  sleeve. 
Presently  he  seated  himself  again,  and,  still  chanting, 
spread  out  the  linen  in  his  palm  and  read  the  characters 
upon  it.  For  an  instant  there  was  a  jerkiness  to  the 
voice,  and  then  it  droned  on  resonantly  again.  Now  the 
eyes  of  the  holy  man  were  fixed  on  the  great  gates  through 
which  strangers  entered,  and  he  was  seated  in  the  way 
which  any  one  must  take  who  came  to  the  palace  doors- 
It  was  almost  dark  when  he  saw  the  bowdb,  after  re- 
peated knocking,  sleepily  and  grudgingly  open  the  gates 
to  admit  a  visitor.  There  seemed  to  be  a  moment's 
hesitation  on  the  bowdb's  part,  but  he  was  presently 
assured  by  something  the  visitor  showed  him,  and  the 
latter  made  his  way  deliberately  to  the  Palace  doors. 
As  the  visitor  neared  the  holy  man,  who  chanted  on 
monotonously,  he  was  suddenly  startled  to  hear  between 
the  long-drawn  syllables  the  quick  words  in  Arabic: 

"Beware,  Saadat!  See,  I  am  Mahommed  Hassan,  thy 
servant!  At  midnight  they  surround  K  aid's  Palace — 
Achmet  and  Higli — and  kill  the  Prince  Pasha.  Return, 
Saadat.     Harrik  will  kill  thee." 

David  made  no  sign,  but  with  a  swift  word  to  the 
faithful  Mahommed  Hassan,  passed  on,  and  was  pres- 
ently admitted  to  the  Palace.  As  the  doors  closed  be- 
hind him,  he  could  hear  the  voice  of  the  holy  man 
still  chanting — "Waladalleen — Ameen — Ameen!  Wala- 
dalleen — Ameen!" 

The  voice  followed  him,  fainter  and  fainter,  as  he 
passed  through  the  great  bare  corridors  with  the  thick 

145 


THE    WEAVERS 

carpets  on  which  the  footsteps  made  no  sound,  until  it 
came,  soft  and  undefined,  as  it  were  from  a  great  dis- 
tance. Then  suddenly  there  fell  upon  him  a  sense  of  the 
peril  of  his  enterprise.  He  had  been  left  alone  in  the 
vast  dim  hall  while  a  slave,  made  obsequious  by  the 
sight  of  the  ring  of  the  Prince  Pasha,  sought  his  master. 
As  he  waited  he  was  conscious  that  people  were  moving 
about  behind  the  great  screens  of  mooshrabieh  which 
separated  this  room  from  others,  and  that  eyes  were  fol- 
lowing his  every  motion.  He  had  gained  easy  ingress  to 
this  place;  but  egress  was  a  matter  of  some  speculation. 
The  doors  which  had  closed  behind  him  might  swing  one 
way  only!  He  had  voluntarily  put  himself  in  the  power 
of  a  man  whose  fatal  secret  he  knew.  He  only  felt  a 
moment's  apprehension,  however.  He  had  been  moved 
to  come  from  a  whisper  in  his  soul ;  and  he  had  the  sure 
conviction  of  the  predestinarian  that  he  was  not  to  be 
the  victim  of  "The  Scytheman"  before  his  appointed 
time.  His  mind  resumed  its  composure,  and  he  watch- 
fully waited  the  return  of  the  slave. 

Suddenly  he  was  conscious  of  some  one  behind  him, 
though  he  had  heard  no  one  approach.  He  swung 
round  and  was  met  by  the  passive  face  of  the  black 
slave  in  personal  attendance  on  Harrik.  The  slave  did 
not  speak,  but  motioned  towards  a  screen  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  and  moved  towards  it.  David  followed.  As 
they  reached  it,  a  broad  panel  opened,  and  they  passed 
through,  between  a  line  of  black  slaves.  Then  there 
was  a  sudden  darkness,  and  a  moment  later  David  was 
ushered  into  a  room  blazing  with  light.  Every  inch  of 
the  walls  was  hung  with  red  curtains.  No  door  was 
visible.  He  was  conscious  of  this  as  the  panel  clicked 
behind  him,  and  the  folds  of  the  red  velvet  caught  his 
shoulder  in  falling.  Now  he  saw  sitting  on  a  divan  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room  Prince  Harrik. 

David  had  never  before  seen  him,  and  his  imagination 

146 


THE    WEAVERS 

had  fashioned  a  different  personality.  Here  was  a  com- 
bination of  intellect,  refinement,  and  savagery.  The 
red,  sullen  lips  stamped  the  delicate,  fanatical  face  with 
cruelty  and  barbaric  indulgence,  while  yet  there  was  an 
intensity  in  the  eyes  that  showed  the  man  was  possessed 
of  an  idea  which  mastered  him — a  root-thought.  David 
was  at  once  conscious  of  a  complex  personality,  of  a  man 
in  whom  two  natures  fought.  He  understood  it.  By  in- 
stinct the  man  was  a  Mahdi,  by  heredity  he  was  a  volup- 
tuary, that  strange  commingling  of  the  religious  and  the 
evil  found  in  so  many  criminals.  In  some  far  corner  of 
his  nature  David  felt  something  akin.  The  rebellion 
in  his  own  blood  against  the  fine  instinct  of  his  Quaker 
faith  and  upbringing  made  him  grasp  the  personality 
before  him.  Had  he  himself  been  born  in  these  sur- 
roundings, under  these  influences — !  The  thought  flash- 
ed through  his  mind  like  lightning,  even  as  he  salaamed 
before  Harrik,  who  salaamed  and  said,  "Peace  be  unto 
thee!"  and  motioned  him  to  a  seat  on  a  divan  near  and 
facing  him. 

'What  is  thy  business  with  me,  effendi?"  asked 
Harrik. 

"I  come  on  the  business  of  the  Prince  Pasha,"  an- 
swered David. 

Harrik  touched  his  fez  mechanically,  then  his  breast 
and  lips,  and  a  cruel  smile  lurked  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  as  he  rejoined, — 

'The  feet  of  them  who  wear  the  ring  of  his  Prince 
wait  at  no  man's  door.  The  carpet  is  spread  for  them. 
They  go  and  they  come  as  the  feet  of  the  doe  in  the 
desert.  Who  shall  say,  They  shall  not  come;  who  shall 
say,  They  shall  not  return!" 

Though  the  words  were  spoken  with  an  air  of  in- 
genuous welcome,  David  felt  the  malignity  in  the  last 
phrase,  and  knew  that  now  was  come  the  most  fateful 
moment  of  his  life.     In  his  inner  being  he  heard  the 

147 


THE    WEAVERS 

dreadful  challenge  of  fate.  If  he  failed  in  his  purpose 
with  his  man,  he  would  never  begin  his  work  in  Egypt. 
Of  his  life  he  did  not  think — his  life  was  his  purpose, 
and  the  one  was  nothing  without  the  other.  No  other 
man  would  have  undertaken  so  Quixotic  an  enterprise, 
none  would  have  exposed  himself  so  recklessly  to  the 
dreadful  accidents  of  circumstance.  There  had  been 
other  ways  to  overcome  this  crisis,  but  he  had  rejected 
them  for  a  course  fantastic  and  fatal  when  looked  at  in 
the  light  of  ordinary  reason.  A  struggle  between  the 
East  and  the  West  was  here  to  be  fought  out  between 
two  wills;  between  an  intellectual  libertine  steeped  in 
Oriental  guilt  and  cruelty  and  self-indulgence,  and  a  be- 
ing selfless,  human,  and  in  an  agony  of  remorse  for  a  life 
lost  by  his  hand. 

Involuntarily  David's  eyes  ran  round  the  room  before 
he  replied.  How  many  slaves  and  retainers  waited  be- 
hind those  velvet  curtains? 

Harrik  saw  the  glance  and  interpreted  it  correctly. 
With  a  look  of  dark  triumph  he  clapped  his  hands.  As 
if  by  magic  fifty  black  slaves  appeared,  armed  with  dag- 
gers.    They  folded  their  arms  and  waited  like  statues. 

David  made  no  sign  of  discomposure,  but  said  slowly: 
"Dost  thou  think  I  did  not  know  my  danger,  eminence? 
Do  I  seem  to  thee  such  a  fool?  I  came  alone  as  one 
would  come  to  the  tent  of  a  Bedouin  chief  whose  son  one 
had  slain,  and  ask  for  food  and  safety.  A  thousand  men 
were  mine  to  command,  but  I  came  alone.  Is  thy  guest 
imbecile  ?  Let  them  go.  I  have  that  to  say  which  is  for 
Prince  Harrik's  ear  alone." 

An  instant's  hesitation,  and  Harrik  motioned  the  slaves 
away.  "What  is  the  private  word  for  my  ear?"  he 
asked  presently,  fingering  the  stem  of  the  narghileh. 

"To  do  right  by  Egypt,  the  land  of  thy  fathers  and 
thy  land;  to  do  right  by  the  Prince  Pasha,  thy  brother." 

"What  is  Egypt  to  thee?     Why  shouldst  thou  bring 

148 


i     inor    iiiixk   l    DID   not    know   MY    DANGER,   KMlNKNi  E?" 


THE    WEAVERS 

thine  insolence  here  ?  Couldst  thou  not  preach  in  thine 
own  bazaars  beyond  the  sea?" 

David  showed  no  resentment.  His  reply  was  com- 
posed and  quiet.  "I  am  come  to  save  Egypt  from  the 
work  of  thy  hands." 

"Dog  of  an  unbeliever,  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  me, 
or  the  work  of  my  hands?" 

David  held  up  Raid's  ring  which  had  lain  in  his  hand. 
"I  come  from  the  master  of  Egypt — master  of  thee,  and 
of  thy  life,  and  of  all  that  is  thine." 

"What  is  Raid's  message  to  me?"  Harrik  asked,  with 
an  effort  at  unconcern,  for  David's  boldness  had  in  it 
something  chilling  to  his  fierce  passion  and  pride. 

"The  word  of  the  Effendina  is  to  do  right  by  Egypt, 
to  give  thyself  to  justice  and  to  peace." 

"Have  done  with  parables.  To  do  right  by  Egypt — 
wherein,  wherefore  ?"  The  eyes  glinted  at  David  like 
bits  of  fiery  steel. 

"I  will  interpret  to  thee,  eminence." 

"Interpret."  Harrik  muttered  to  himself  in  rage.  His 
heart  was  dark,  he  thirsted  for  the  life  of  this  arrogant 
Inglcsi.  Did  the  fool  not  see  his  end  ?  Midnight  was 
at  hand!     He  smiled  grimly. 

"This  is  the  interpretation,  O  Prince!  Prince  Harrik 
has  conspired  against  his  brother  the  Prince  Pasha,  has 
treacherously  seduced  officers  of  the  army,  has  planned  to 
seize  Cairo,  to  surround  the  Palace  and  take  the  life  of 
the  Prince  of  Egypt.  For  months,  Prince,  thee  has  done 
this:  and  the  end  of  it  is  that  thee  shall  do  right  ere 
it  be  too  late.  Thee  is  a  traitor  to  thy  country  and  thy 
lawful  lord." 

Harrik's  face  turned  pale;  the  stem  of  the  narghileh 
shook  in  his  fingers.  All  had  been  discovered,  then! 
But  there  was  a  thing  of  dark  magic  here.  It  was  not 
a  half-hour  since  he  had  given  the  word  to  strike  at  mid- 
night, to  surround  the  Palace,  and  to  seize  the  Prince 

i49 


THE    WEAVERS 

Pasha.  Achmet — Higli,  had  betrayed  him,  then!  Who 
other  ?  No  one  else  knew  save  Zaida,  and  Zaida  was  in 
the  harem.  Perhaps  even  now  his  own  palace  was  sur- 
rounded. If  it  was  so,  then,  come  what  might,  this  mas- 
terful Inglesi  should  pay  the  price.  He  thought  of  the 
den  of  lions  hard  by,  of  the  cage  of  tigers — the  menag- 
erie not  a  thousand  feet  away.  He  could  hear  the  dis- 
tant roaring  now,  and  his  eyes  glittered.  The  Christian 
to  the  wild  beasts!  That  at  least  before  the  end.  A 
Muslim  would  win  heaven  by  sending  a  Christian  to  hell. 

Achmet — Higli!  No  others  knew.  The  light  of  a 
fateful  fanaticism  was  in  his  eyes.  David  read  him  as 
an  open  book,  and  saw  the  madness  come  upon  him. 

"Neither  Higli,  nor  Achmet,  nor  any  of  thy  fellow- 
conspirators  has  betrayed  thee,"  David  said.  "God  has 
other  voices  to  whisper  the  truth  than  those  who  share 
thy  crimes.     I  have  ears,  and  the  air  is  full  of  voices." 

Harrik  stared  at  him.  Was  this  Inglesi,  then,  with 
the  gray  coat,  buttoned  to  the  chin,  and  the  broad  black 
hat  which  remained  on  his  head  unlike  the  custom  of 
the  English — was  he  one  of  those  who  saw  visions  and 
dreamed  dreams,  even  as  himself?  Had  he  not  heard 
last  night  a  voice  whisper  through  the  dark:  ''Harrik, 
Harrik,  flee  to  the  desert !  The  lions  are  loosed  upon  thee!" 
Had  he  not  risen  with  the  voice  still  in  his  ears  and  fled 
to  the  harem,  seeking  Zaida,  she  who  had  never  cringed 
before  him,  whose  beauty  he  had  conquered,  but  whose 
face  turned  from  him  when  he  would  lay  his  lips  on  hers  ? 
And,  as  he  fled,  had  he  not  heard,  as  it  were,  footsteps 
lightly  following  him — or  were  they  going  before  him? 
Finding  Zaida,  had  he  not  told  her  of  the  voice,  and  had 
she  not  said,  "In  the  desert  all  men  are  safe — safe  from 
themselves  and  safe  from  others;  from  their  own  acts  and 
from  the  acts  of  others"?  Were  the  lions,  then,  loosed 
upon  him  ?     Had  he  been  betrayed  ? 

Suddenly  the  thought  flashed  into  his  mind  that  his 


THE    WEAVERS 

challenger  would  not  have  thrust  himself  into  danger, 
given  himself  to  the  mouth  of  the  Pit,  if  violence  were 
intended.  There  was  that  inside  his  robe,  than  which 
lightning  would  not  be  more  quick  to  slay.  Had  he  not 
been  a  hunter  of  repute?  Had  he  not  been  in  deadly 
peril  with  wild  beasts,  and  was  he  not  quicker  than  they  ? 
This  man  before  him  was  like  no  other  he  had  ever  met. 
Did  voices  speak  to  him?  Were  there,  then,  among  the 
Christians  such  holy  men  as  among  the  Muslims,  who 
saw  things  before  they  happened,  and  read  the  human 
mind  ?  Were  there  sorcerers  among  them,  as  among  the 
Arabs  ? 

In  any  case  his  treason  was  known.  What  were  to  be 
the  consequences  ?  Diamond-dust  in  his  coffee  ?  To  be 
dropped  into  the  Nile  like  a  dog?  To  be  smothered  in 
his  sleep  ? — For  who  could  be  trusted  among  all  his  slaves 
and  retainers  when  it  was  known  he  was  disgraced,  and 
that  the  Prince  Pasha  would  be  happier  if  Harrik  were 
quiet  forever  ? 

Mechanically  he  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it. 
It  was  nine  o'clock.  In  three  hours  more,  would  have 
fallen  the  coup.  But  from  this  man's  words  he  knew 
that  the  stroke  was  now  with  the  Prince  Pasha.  Yet,  if 
this  pale  Inglesi,  this  Christian  sorcerer,  knew  the  truth 
in  a  vision  only,  and  had  not  declared  it  to  Kaid,  there 
might  still  be  a  chance  of  escape.  The  lions  were  near — 
it  would  be  a  joy  to  give  a  Christian  to  the  lions  to  cele- 
brate the  capture  of  Cairo  and  the  throne.  He  listened 
intently  to  the  distant  rumble  of  the  lions.  There  was 
one  cage  dedicated  to  vengeance.  Five  human  beings 
on  whom  his  terrible  anger  fell  in  times  past  had  been 
thrust  into  it  alive.  Two  were  slaves,  one  was  an  en- 
emy, one  an  invader  of  his  harem,  and  one  was  a  wom- 
an, his  wife,  his  favorite,  the  darling  of  his  heart.  When 
his  chief  eunuch  accused  her  of  a  guilty  love,  he  had 
given  her  paramour  and  herself  to  that  awful  death.  A 
ii  151 


THE    WEAVERS 

stroke  of  the  vast  paw,  a  smothered  roar  as  the  teeth 
gave  into  the  neck  of  the  beautiful  Fatima,  and  then — 
no  more.  Fanaticism  had  caught  a  note  of  savage  music 
that  tuned  it  to  its  height. 

"Why  art  thou  here?  For  what  hast  thou  come? 
Do  the  spirit  voices  give  thee  that  counsel?"  he  snarled. 

"I  am  come  to  ask  Prince  Harrik  to  repair  the  wrong 
he  has  done.  When  the  Prince  Pasha  came  to  know  of 
thy  treason — " 

Harrik  started.  "Kaid  believes  thy  tale  of  treason?" 
he  burst  out. 

"Prince  Kaid  knows  the  truth,"  answered  David  quiet- 
ly. "He  might  have  surrounded  this  Palace  with  his 
Nubians,  and  had  thee  shot  against  the  Palace  walls. 
That  would  have  meant  a  scandal  in  Egypt  and  in  Eu- 
rope. I  besought  him  otherwise.  It  may  be  the  scandal 
must  come,  but  in  another  way,  and — " 

;'That  I,  Harrik,  must  die?"  Harrik's  voice  seemed 
far  away.  In  his  own  ears  it  sounded  strange  and  un- 
usual. All  at  once  the  world  seemed  to  be  a  vast  vacuum 
in  which  his  brain  strove  for  air,  and  all  his  senses  were 
numbed  and  overpowered.  Distempered  and  vague,  his 
soul  seemed  spinning  in  an  aching  chaos.  It  was  being 
overpowered  by  vast  elements,  and  life  and  being  were 
atrophied  in  a  deadly  smother.  The  awful  forces  behind 
visible  being  hung  him  in  the  middle  space  between  con- 
sciousness and  dissolution.  He  heard  David's  voice,  at 
first  dimly,  then  understandingly. 

"There  is  no  other  way.  Thou  art  a  traitor.  Thou 
wouldst  have  been  a  fratricide.  Thou  wouldst  have  put 
back  the  clock  in  Egypt  by  a  hundred  years,  even  to  the 
days  of  the  Mamelukes — a  race  of  slaves  and  murderers. 
God  ordained  that  thy  guilt  should  be  known  in  time. 
Prince,  thou  art  guilty.  It  is  now  but  a  question  how 
thou  shalt  pay  the  debt  of  treason." 

In  David's  calm  voice  was  the  ring  of  destiny.     It 

152 


THE    WEAVERS 

was  dispassionate,  judicial;  it  had  neither  hatred  nor 
pity.  It  fell  on  Harrik's  ear  as  though  from  some  far 
height.  Destiny,  the  controller — who  could  escape  it  ? 
Had  he  not  heard  the  voices  in  the  night — ' '  The  lions  are 
loosed  upon  thee"?  He  did  not  answer  David  now,  but 
murmured  to  himself  like  one  in  a  dream. 

David  saw  his  mood,  and  pursued  the  startled  mind 
into  the  pit  of  confusion.  "If  it  become  known  to  Eu- 
rope that  the  army  is  disloyal,  that  its  officers  are  traitors 
like  thee,  what  shall  we  find?  England,  France,  Tur- 
key will  land  an  army  of  occupation.  Who  shall  gainsay 
Turkey  if  she  chooses  to  bring  an  army  here  and  recover 
control,  remove  thy  family  from  Egypt,  and  seize  upon 
its  lands  and  goods  ?  Dost  thou  not  see  that  the  hand 
of  God  has  been  against  thee?  He  has  spoken,  and  thy 
evil  is  discovered." 

He  paused.  Still  Harrik  did  not  reply,  but  looked 
at  him  with  dilated,  fascinated  eyes.  Death  had  hyp- 
notized him,  and  against  death  and  destiny  who  could 
struggle  ?  Had  not  a  past  Prince  Pasha  of  Egypt  safe- 
guarded himself  from  assassination  all  his  life,  and,  in 
the  end,  had  he  not  been  smothered  in  his  sleep  by 
slaves? 

'There  are  two  ways  only,"  David  continued — "to  be 
tried  and  die  publicly  for  thy  crimes,  to  the  shame  of 
Egypt,  its  present  peril,  and  lasting  injury;  or  to  send  a 
message  to  those  who  conspired  with  thee,  commanding 
them  to  return  to  their  allegiance,  and  another  to  the 
Prince  Pasha,  acknowledging  thy  fault,  and  exonerating 
all  others.  Else,  how  many  of  thy  dupes  shall  die! 
Thy  choice  is  not  life  or  death,  but  how  thou  shalt  die, 
and  what  thou  shalt  do  for  Egypt  as  thou  diest.  Thou 
didst  love  Egypt,  eminence?" 

David's  voice  dropped  low,  and  his  last  words  had  a 
suggestion  which  went  like  an  arrow  to  the  source  of 
all  Harrik's  crimes,  and  that  also  which  redeemed  him 

153 


THE    WEAVERS 

in  a  little.  It  got  into  his  inner  being.  He  roused  him- 
self and  spoke,  but  at  first  his  speech  was  broken  and 
smothered. 

"Day  by  day  I  saw  Egypt  given  over  to  the  Chris- 
tians," he  said.  'The  Greek,  the  Italian,  the  French- 
man, the  Englishman,  everywhere  they  reached  out 
their  Hands  and  took  from  us  our  own.  They  defiled 
our  mosques;  they  corrupted  our  life;  they  ravaged 
our  trade,  they  stole  our  customers,  they  crowded  us 
from  the  streets  where  once  the  faithful  lived  alone. 
Such  as  thou  had  the  ear  of  the  Prince,  and  such  as 
Nahoum,  also  an  infidel,  who  favored  the  infidels  of 
Europe.  And  now  thou  hast  come,  the  most  dangerous 
of  them  all !  Day  by  day  the  Muslim  has  loosed  his  hold 
on  Cairo,  and  Alexandria,  and  the  cities  of  Egypt.  Street 
upon  street  knows  him  no  more.  My  heart  burned  with- 
in me.  I  conspired  for  Egypt's  sake.  I  would  have 
made  her  Muslim  once  again.  I  would  have  fought  the 
Turk  and  the  Frank,  as  did  Mehemet  Ali;  and  if  the 
infidels  came,  I  would  have  turned  them  back;  or  if  they 
would  not  go,  I  would  have  destroyed  them  here.  Such 
as  thou  should  have  been  stayed  at  the  door.  In  my 
own  house  I  would  have  been  master.  We  seek  not  to 
take  up  our  abode  in  other  nations  and  in  the  cities  of 
the  infidel.  Shall  we  give  place  to  them  on  our  own 
mastaba,  in  our  own  courtyard,  hand  to  them  the  keys 
of  our  harems  ?  I  would  have  raised  the  Jehad  if  they 
vexed  me  with  their  envoys  and  their  armies!"  He 
paused,  panting. 

"It  would  not  have  availed,"  was  David's  quiet  an- 
swer. "This  land  may  not  be  as  Tibet — -a  prison  for 
its  own  people.  If  the  door  opens  outward,  then  must 
it  open  inward  also.  Egypt  is  the  bridge  between  the 
East  and  the  West.  Upon  it  the  peoples  of  all  nations 
pass  and  repass.  Thy  plan  was  folly,  thy  hope  madness, 
thy  means  to  achieve   horrible.     Thy  dream    is    done. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

The  army  will  not  revolt,  the  Prince  will  not  be  slain. 
Now  only  remains  what  thou  shalt  do  for  Egypt." 

"And  thou — thou  wilt  be  left  here  to  lay  thy  will 
upon  Egypt.  Ka'id's  ear  will  be  in  thy  hand — thou  hast 
the  sorcerer's  eye.  I  know  thy  meaning.  Thou  wouldst 
have  me  absolve  all,  even  Achmet,  and  High,  and  Diaz, 
and  the  rest,  and  at  thy  bidding  go  out  into  the  desert  " 
— he  paused — "or  into  the  grave." 

"Not  into  the  desert,"  rejoined  David  firmly.  "Thou 
wouldst  not  rest.  There,  in  the  desert,  thou  wouldst 
be  a  Mahdi.  Since  thou  must  die,  wilt  thou  not  order 
it  after  thine  own  choice?     It  is  to  die  for  Egypt." 

"Is  this  the  will  of  Kaid?"  asked  Harrik,  his  voire 
thick  with  wonder,  his  brain  still  dulled  by  the  blow  of 
Fate. 

"It  was  not  the  Effendina's  will,  but  it  hath  his  as- 
sent. Wilt  thou  write  the  word  to  the  army  and  also 
to  the  Prince?" 

He  had  conquered.  There  was  a  moment's  hesitation, 
then  Harrik  picked  up  paper  and  ink  that  lay  near  and 
said:  "I  will  write  to  Kaid.  I  will  have  naught  to  do 
with  the  army." 

'It  shall  be  the  whole,  not  the  part,"  answered  David 
rminedly.  'The  truth  is  known.  It  can  serve  no 
end  to  withhold  the  writing  to  the  army.  Remember 
what  I  have  said  to  thee.  The  disloyalty  of  the  army 
must  not  be  known.  Canst  thou  not  act  after  the  will 
of  Allah,  the  all-powerful,  the  all-just,  the  all-merciful  ."" 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  and  then  suddenly  Har- 
rik placed  the  paper  in  his  palm  and  wrote  swiftly  and 
at  some  length  to  Kaid.  Laying  it  down,  he  took  an- 
other and  wrote  hut  a  few  words — to  Achmet  and  Diaz. 
This  message  said  in  brief,  "  Do  not  strike.  It  is  the  will 
of  Allah.  The  army  shall  keep  faithful  until  the  day  of 
the  Mahdi  be  come.  1  spoke  before  the  time.  I  go  to 
the  bosom  of  my  Lord  Mahomet." 

i 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  threw  the  papers  on  the  floor  before  David,  who 
picked  them  up,  read  them,  and  put  them  into  his 
pocket. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said.  "Egypt  shall  have  peace.  And 
thou,  eminence?" 

"Who  shall  escape  Fate?  What  I  have  written  I 
have  written." 

David  rose  and  salaamed.     Harrik  rose  also. 
'Thou  wouldst  go,  having  accomplished  thy  will?" 
Harrik  asked,  a  thought  flashing  to  his  mind  again,  in 
keeping  with  his  earlier  purpose.     Why  should  this  man 
be  left  to  trouble  Egypt  ? 

David  touched  his  breast.  "I  must  bear  thy  words 
to  the  Palace  and  the  Citadel." 

"Are  there  not  slaves  for  messengers?"  Involuntarily 
Harrik  turned  his  eyes  to  the  velvet  curtains.  No  fear 
possessed  David,  but  he  felt  the  keenness  of  the  struggle, 
and  prepared  for  the  last  critical  moment  of  fanaticism. 

"It  were  a  foolish  thing  to  attempt  my  death,"  he 
said  calmly.  "I  have  been  thy  friend  to  urge  thee  to 
do  that  which  saves  thee  from  public  shame,  and  Egypt 
from  peril.  I  came  alone,  because  I  had  no  fear  that 
thou  wouldst  go  to  thy  death  shaming  hospitality." 

'Thou  wast  sure  I  would  give  myself  to  death?" 

"Even  as  that  I  breathe.  Thou  wert  mistaken;  a 
madness  possessed  thee;  but  thou,  I  knew,  wouldst 
choose  the  way  of  honor.  I  too  have  had  dreams — and 
of  Egypt.     If  it  were  for  her  good,  I  would  die  for  her." 

"Thou  art  mad.  But  the  mad  are  in  the  hands  of 
God,  and — •" 

Suddenly  Harrik  stopped.  There  came  to  his  ears  two 
distant  sounds — the  faint  click  of  horses'  hoofs  and  that 
dull  rumble  they  had  heard  as  they  talked,  a  sound  he 
loved,  the  roar  of  his  lions. 

He  clapped  his  hands  twice,  the  curtains  parted  op- 
posite, and  a  slave  slid  silently  forward. 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Quick!  The  horses!  What  are  they?  Bring  me 
word,"  he  said. 

The  slave  vanished.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence. 
The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met.  In  the  minds  of  both 
was  the  same  thing. 

"Kaid!  The  Nubians!"  Harrik  said,  at  last.  David 
made  no  response. 

The  slave  returned,  and  his  voice  murmured  softly,  as 
though  the  matter  were  of  no  concern,  "The  Nubians — ■ 
from  the  Palace!"     In  an  instant  he  was  gone  again. 

"Kaid  had  not  faith  in  thee!"  Harrik  said  grimly. 
"But  see,  infidel  though  thou  art,  thou  trustest  me, 
and  thou  shalt  go  thy  way.  Take  them  with  thee, 
yonder  jackals  of  the  desert.  I  will  not  go  with  them. 
I  did  not  choose  to  live;  others  chose  for  me;  but  I  will 
die  after  my  own  choice.  Thou  hast  heard  a  voice, 
even  as  I.  It  is  too  late  to  flee  to  the  desert.  Fate 
tricks  me.  '  The  lions  are  loosed  on  thee' — so  the  voice 
said  to  me  in  the  night.  Hark!  dost  thou  not  hear 
them — the  lions,  Harrik's  lions,  got  out  of  the  uttermost 
desert?" 

David  could  hear  the  distant  roar,  for  the  menagerie 
was  even  part  of  the  Palace  itself. 

"Go  in  peace,"  continued  Harrik  soberly  and  with 
dignity,  "and  when  Egypt  is  given  to  the  infidel  and 
Muslims  are  their  slaves,  remember  that  Harrik  would 
have  saved  it  for  his  Lord  Mahomet,  the  prophet  of  God." 

He  clapped  his  hands,  and  fifty  slaves  slid  from  be- 
hind the  velvet  curtains. 

' '  I  have  thy  word  by  the  tomb  of  thy  mother  that 
thou  wilt  take  the  Nubians  hence,  and  leave  me  in 
peace?"  he  asked. 

David  raised  a  hand  above  his  head.  "As  I  have 
trusted  thee,  trust  thou  me,  Harrik,  son  of  Mahomet." 
Harrik  made  a  gesture  of  dismissal,  and  David  sa- 
laamed and  turned  to  go.     As  the  curtains  parted  for 

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THE    WEAVERS 

his  exit,  he  faced  Harrik  again.  "Peace  be  to  thee," 
he  said. 

But,  seated  in  his  cushions,  the  haggard,  fanatical 
face  of  Harrik  was  turned  from  him,  the  black,  flaring 
eyes  fixed  on  vacancy.  The  curtain  dropped  behind 
David,  and  through  the  dim  rooms  and  corridors  he 
passed,  the  slaves  gliding  beside  him,  before  him,  and 
behind  him,  until  they  reached  the  great  doors.  As  they 
swung  open  and  the  cool  night  breeze  blew  in  his  face, 
a  great  suspiration  of  relief  passed  from  him.  What  he 
had  set  out  to  do  would  be  accomplished  in  all.  Harrik 
would  keep  his  word.     It  was  the  only  way. 

As  he  emerged  from  the  doorway  some  one  fell  at  his 
feet,  caught  his  sleeve  and  kissed  it.  It  was  Mahommed 
Hassan.  Behind  Mahommed  was  a  little  group  of  offi- 
cers and  a  hundred  stalwart  Nubians.  David  motioned 
them  towards  the  great  gates,  and,  without  speaking, 
passed  swiftly  down  the  pathway  and  emerged  upon  the 
road  without.  A  moment  later  he  was  riding  towards 
the  Citadel  with  Harrik's  message  to  Achmet. 

In  the  red-curtained  room  Harrik  sat  alone,  listening 
until  he  heard  the  far  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  knew  that 
the  Nubians  were  gone.  Then  the  other  distant  sound 
which  had  captured  his  ear  came  to  him  again.  In  his 
fancy  it  grew  louder  and  louder.  With  it  came  the  voice 
that  called  him  in  the  night,  the  voice  of  a  woman — of 
the  wife  he  had  given  to  the  lions  for  a  crime  against  him 
which  she  did  not  commit,  which  had  haunted  him  all 
the  years.  He  had  seen  her  thrown  to  the  king  of  them 
all,  killed  in  one  swift  instant,  and  dragged  about  the 
den  by  her  warm  white  neck  —  this  slave  wife  from 
Albania,  his  adored  Fatima.  And  when,  afterwards,  he 
came  to  know  the  truth,  and  of  her  innocence,  from  the 
chief  eunuch  who  with  his  last  breath  cleared  her  name, 
a  terrible  anger  and  despair  had  come  upon  him.     Time 

iS8 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  intrigue  and  conspiracy  had  distracted  his  mind,  and 
the  Jehad  became  the  fixed  aim  and  end  of  his  life.  Now 
this  was  gone.  Destiny  had  tripped  him  up.  Kaid  and 
the  infidel  Inglesi  had  won. 

As  the  one  great  passion  went  out  like  smoke,  the 
woman  he  loved,  whom  he  had  given  to  the  lions,  the 
memory  of  her,  some  haunting  part  of  her  possessed 
him,  overcame  him.  In  truth,  he  had  heard  a  voice  in 
the  night,  but  not  the  voice  of  a  spirit.  It  was  the  voice 
of  Zaida,  who,  preying  upon  his  superstitious  mind — 
she  knew  the  hallucination  which  possessed  him  con- 
cerning her  he  had  cast  to  the  lions — and  having  given 
the  terrible  secret  to  Kaid,  whom  she  had  ever  loved, 
would  still  save  Harrik  from  the  sure  vengeance  which 
must  fall  upon  him.  Her  design  had  worked,  but  not 
as  she  intended.  She  had  put  a  spell  of  superstition  on 
him,  and  the  end  would  be  accomplished,  but  not  by 
flight  to  the  desert. 

Harrik  chose  the  other  way.  He  had  been  a  hunter. 
He  was  without  fear.  The  voice  of  the  woman  he  loved 
called  him.  It  came  to  him  through  the  distant  roar 
of  the  lions  as  clear  as  when,  with  one  cry  of  "  Harrik!" 
she  had  fallen  beneath  the  lion's  paw.  He  knew  now 
why  he  had  kept  the  great  beast  until  this  hour,  though 
tempted  again  and  again  to  slay  him. 

Like  one  in  a  dream,  he  drew  a  dagger  from  the  cush- 
ions where  he  sat,  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Leaving  the 
room  and  passing  dark  groups  of  waiting  slaves,  he 
travelled  empty  chambers  and  long  corridors,  the  voices 
of  the  lions  growing  nearer  and  nearer.  He  sped  faster 
now,  and  presently  came  to  two  great  doors,  on  which 
he  knocked  thrice.  The  doors  opened,  and  two  slaves 
held  up  lights  for  him  to  enter.  Taking  a  torch  from 
one  of  them,  he  bade  them  retire,  and  the  doors  clanged 
behind  them. 

Harrik  held  up  the  torch   and   came  nearer.     In  the 

159 


THE    WEAVERS 

centre  of  the  room  was  a  cage  in  which  one  great  lion 
paced  to  and  fro  in  fury.  It  roared  at  him  savagely.  It 
was  his  roar  which  had  come  to  Harrik  through  the  dis- 
tance and  the  night.  He  it  was  who  had  carried  Fatima, 
the  beloved,  about  his  cage  by  that  neck  in  which  Harrik 
had  laid  his  face  so  often. 

The  hot  flush  of  conflict  and  the  long  anger  of  the  years 
were  on  him.  Since  he  must  die,  since  Destiny  had 
befooled  him,  left  him  the  victim  of  the  avengers,  he 
would  end  it  here.  Here,  against  the  thing  of  savage 
hate  which  had  drunk  of  the  veins  and  crushed  the 
bones  of  his  fair  wife,  he  would  strike  one  blow  deep 
and  strong,  and  shed  the  blood  of  sacrifice  before  his  own 
was  shed. 

He  thrust  the  torch  into  the  ground,  and,  with  the 
dagger  grasped  tightly,  carefully  opened  the  cage  and 
stepped  inside.  The  door  clicked  behind  him.  The 
lion  was  silent  now,  and  in  a  far  corner  prepared  to 
spring,  crouching  low. 

"Fatima!"  Harrik  cried,  and  sprang  forward  as  the 
wild  beast  rose  at  him.  He  struck  deep,  drew  forth  the 
dagger — and  was  still. 


XIII 

ACHMET    THE    ROPE-MAKER    STRIKES 

War!  War!  The  chains  of  the  conscripts  clanked 
in  the  river  villages ;  the  wailing  of  the  women  affrighted 
the  pigeons  in  a  thousand  dove-cotes  on  the  Nile ;  the  dust 
of  despair  was  heaped  upon  the  heads  of  the  old,  who 
knew  that  their  young  would  no  more  return,  and  that 
the  fields  of  dourha  would  go  ungathered,  the  water- 
channels  go  unattended,  and  the  onion-fields  be  ban-. 
War!  War!  War!  The  strong,  the  broad-shouldered — 
Aka,  Mahmoud,  Raschid,  Selim,  they  with  the  bodies 
of  Seti  and  the  faces  of  Rameses,  in  their  biue  yeleks 
and  unsandalled  feet,  would  go  into  the  desert  as  their 
forefathers  did  for  the  Shepherd  Kings.  But  there 
would  be  no  spoil  for  them — no  slaves  with  swelling 
breasts  and  lips  of  honey,  no  straight-limbed  servants  of 
their  pleasure  to  wait  on  them  with  caressing  fingers;  no 
rich  spoils  carried  back  from  the  fields  of  war  to  the 
mud  hut,  the  earth  oven,  and  the  thatched  roof;  no  rings 
of  soft  gold  and  necklaces  of  amber  snatched  from  1h> 
fingers  and  bosoms  of  the  captive  and  the  dead.  Thosf 
days  were  no  more.  No  vision  of  loot  or  luxury  allured 
these.  They  saw  only  the  yellow  sand,  the  ever-receding 
oasis,  the  brackish,  undrinkable  water,  the  withered  and 
fruitless  date-tree,  handfuls  of  dourha  for  their  food  by 
day,  and  the  keen  sharp  night  to  chill  their  half-dead 
bodies  in  a  half -waking  sleep.  And  then  the  savage 
struggle  for  life — with  all  the  gain  to  the  pashas  and  the 
beys,  and  those  who  ruled  over  them;  while  their  own 

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THE    WEAVERS 

wounds  grew  foul,  and,  in  the  torturing  noonday  heat 
of  the  white  waste,  Death  reached  out  and  dragged  them 
from  the  drooping  lines  to  die.  Fighting  because  they 
must  fight  —  not  patriot  love,  nor  understanding,  nor 
sacrifice  in  their  hearts.    War!    War!    War!    War! 

David  had  been  too  late  to  stop  it.  It  had  grown  to  a 
head  with  revolution  and  conspiracy.  For  months  be- 
fore he  came  conscripts  had  been  gathered  in  the  Nile 
country  from  Rosetta  to  Assouan,  and  here  and  there, 
far  south,  tribes  had  revolted.  He  had  come  to  power 
too  late  to  devise  another  course.  One  day,  when  this 
war  was  over,  he  would  go  alone,  save  for  a  faithful  few, 
to  deal  with  these  tribes  and  peoples  upon  another  plane 
than  war;  but  here  and  now  the  only  course  was  that 
which  had  been  planned  by  Kaid  and  those  who  coun- 
selled him.  Troubled  by  a  deep  danger  drawing  near, 
Kaid  had  drawn  him  into  his  tough  service,  half -blindly 
catching  at  his  help,  with  a  strange,  almost  superstitious 
belief  that  luck  and  good  would  come  from  the  alliance ; 
seeing  in  him  a  protection  against  wholesale  robbery  and 
debt — were  not  the  English  masters  of  finance,  and  was 
not  this  Englishman  honest,  and  with  a  brain  of  fire  and 
an  eye  that  pierced  things? 

David  had  accepted  the  inevitable.  The  war  had  its 
value.  It  would  draw  off  to  the  south — he  would  see 
that  it  was  so — Achmet  and  High  and  Diaz  and  the  rest, 
who  were  ever  a  danger.  Not  to  himself:  he  did  not 
think  of  that;  but  to  Kaid  and  to  Egypt.  They  had 
been  outmanoeuvred,  beaten,  foiled,  knew  who  had  foiled 
them  and  what  they  had  escaped;  congratulated  them- 
selves, but  had  no  gratitude  to  him,  and  still  plotted  his 
destruction.  More  than  once  his  death  had  been  planned, 
but  the  dark  design  had  come  to  light — now  from  the 
workers  of  the  bazaars,  whose  wires  of  intelligence  pierced 
everywhere ;  now  from  some  hungry  fellah,  whose  yelek  he 
had  filled  with  cakes  of  dourha  beside  a  bread-shop;  now 

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THE    WEAVERS 

from  Mahommed  Hassan,  who  was  for  him  a  thousand 
eyes  and  feet  and  hands,  who  cooked  his  food,  and 
gathered  round  him  fellaheen  or  Copts  or  Soudanese  or 
Nubians  whom  he  himself  had  tested  and  found  true, 
and  ruled  them  with  a  hand  of  plenty  and  a  rod  of  iron. 
Also,  from  Nahoum's  spies  he  learned  of  plots  and  coun- 
terplots, chiefly  on  Achmet's  part;  and  these  he  hid  from 
Kaid,  while  he  trusted  Nahoum — and  not  without  reason, 
as  yet. 

The  day  of  Nahoum's  wrath  and  revenge  was  not  yet 
come;  it  was  his  deep  design  to  lay  the  foundation  for 
his  own  dark  actions  strong  on  a  rock  of  apparent  con- 
fidence and  devotion.  A  long  torture  and  a  great  over- 
whelming was  his  design.  He  knew  himself  to  be  in  the 
scheme  of  a  master  workman,  and  by  and  by  he  would 
blunt  the  chisel  and  bend  the  saw;  but  not  yet.  Mean- 
while, he  hated,  admired,  schemed,  and  got  a  sweet  taste 
on  his  tongue  from  aiding  David  to  foil  Achmet — High 
and  Diaz  were  of  little  account;  only  the  injury  they  felt 
in  seeing  the  sluices  being  closed  on  the  stream  of  bri- 
bery and  corruption  kept  them  in  the  toils  of  Achmet's 
conspiracy.  They  had  saved  their  heads,  but  they  had 
not  learned  their  lesson  yet ;  and  Achmet,  blinded  by  rag<  , 
not  at  all.  Achmet  did  not  understand  clemency.  One 
by  one  his  plots  had  failed,  until  the  day  came  when 
David  advised  Kaid  to  send  him  and  his  friends  into  the 
Soudan,  with  the  punitive  expedition  under  loyal  gen- 
erals. It  was  David's  dream  that  in  the  field  of  war  a 
better  spirit  might  enter  into  Achmet  and  his  friends; 
that  patriotism  might  stir  in  them. 

The  day  was  approaching  when  the  army  must  leave. 
Achmet  threw  dice  once  more. 

Evening  was  drawing  down.  Over  the  plaintive  pink 
and  golden  glow  of  sunset  was  slowly  being  drawn  a  per- 
vasive silver  veil  of  moonlight.     A  caravan  of  camels 

163 


THE    WEAVERS 

hunched  alone  in  the  middle  distance,  making  for  the 
western  desert.  Near  by,  village  life  manifested  itself 
in  heavily  laden  donkeys;  in  wolfish  curs  stealing  away 
with  refuse  into  the  waste;  in  women,  upright  and  mod- 
est, bearing  jars  of  water  on  their  heads;  in  evening  fires, 
where  the  cover  of  the  pot  clattered  over  the  boiling  mass 
within ;  in  the  voice  of  the  muezzin  calling  to  prayer. 

Returning  from  Alexandria  to  Cairo  in  the  special 
train  which  Kaid  had  sent  for  him,  David  watched  the 
scene  with  grave  and  friendly  interest.  There  was  far 
to  go  before  those  mud  huts  of  the  thousand  years  would 
give  place  to  rational  modern  homes ;  and  as  he  saw  a  sol- 
itary horseman  spread  his  sheepskin  on  the  ground  and 
kneel  to  say  his  evening  prayer,  as  Mahomet  had  done 
in  his  flight  between  Mecca  and  Medina,  the  distance 
between  the  Egypt  of  his  desire  and  the  ancient  Egypt 
that  moved  round  him  sharply  impressed  his  mind,  and 
the  magnitude  of  his  task  settled  heavily  on  his  spirit. 

"But  it  is  the  beginning  —  the  beginning,"  he  said 
aloud  to  himself,  looking  out  upon  the  green  expanses  of 
dourha  and  lucerne,  and  eying  lovingly  the  cotton-fields 
here  and  there, — -the  beginning  of  the  industrial  move- 
ment he  foresaw — "and  some  one  had  to  begin.  The 
rest  is  as  it  must  be — " 

There  was  a  touch  of  Oriental  philosophy  in  his  mind — - 
was  it  not  Galilee  and  the  Nazarene,  that  Oriental  source 
from  which  Mahomet  also  drew  ?  But  he  added  to  the 
"as  it  must  be"  the  words,  "and  as  God  wills!" 

He  was  alone  in  the  compartment  with  Lacey,  whose 
natural  garrulity  had  had  a  severe  discipline  in  the 
months  that  had  passed  since  he  had  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  black  David's  boots!  He  could  now  sit  for  an  hour 
silent,  talking  to  himself,  carrying  on  unheard  conversa- 
tions. Seeing  David's  mood,  he  had  not  spoken  twice 
on  this  journey,  but  had  made  notes  in  a  little  "Book  of 
Experience," — as  once  he  had  done  in  Mexico.     At  last, 

164 


THE    WEAVERS 

however,  he  raised  his  head,  and  looked  eagerly  out  of 
the  window  as  David  did,  and  sniffed. 

"The  Nile  again,"  he  said,  and  smiled.  The  attrac- 
tion of  the  Nile  was  upon  him,  as  it  grows  on  every  one 
who  lives  in  Egypt.  The  Nile  and  Egypt — Egypt  and 
the  Nile — its  mystery,  its  greatness,  its  benevolence,  its 
life-giving  power,  without  which  Egypt  is  as  Sahara,  it 
conquers  the  mind  of  every  man  at  last. 

"The  Nile,  yes,"  rejoined  David,  and  smiled  also.  "We 
shall  cross  it  presently." 

Again  they  relapsed  into  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
clang,  clang  of  the  metal  on  the  rails,  and  then  presently 
another,  more  hollow  sound — -the  engine  was  upon  the 
bridge.  Lacey  got  up  and  put  his  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  of  fear  and  horror  over 
his  head,  a  warning  voice  shrieking: 

"The  bridge  is  open — we  are  lost.  Effendi— master — 
Allah!"  It  was  the  voce  of  Mahommcd  Hassan,  who  had 
been  perched  on  the  roof  of  the  car. 

Like  lightning,  Lacey  realized  the  danger  and  saw  the 
only  way  of  escape.  He  swung  open  the  door,  even  as 
the  engine  touched  the  edge  of  the  abyss  and  shrieked 
its  complaint  under  the  hand  of  the  terror-stricken  driver, 
caught  David's  shoulder,  and  cried:  "Jump — jump  into 
the  river — quick!" 

As  the  engine  toppled,  David  jumped— there  was  no 
time  to  think,  obedience  was  the  only  way.  After  him 
sprang,  far  down  into  the  gray-blue  water,  Lacey  and  Ma- 
hommed.  When  they  came  again  to  the  surface,  the  little 
train  with  its  handful  of  human  freight  had  disappeared. 

Two  people  had  seen  the  train  plunge  to  destruction — 
the  solitary  horseman  whom  David  had  watched  kneel 
upon  his  sheepskin,  and  who  now  from  a  far  hill  had  seen 
the  disaster,  but  had  not  seen  the  three  jump  for  their 
lives,  and  a  fisherman  on  the  bank,  who  ran  shouting 
towards  a  village  standing  back  from  the  river. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

As  the  fisherman  sped  shrieking  and  beckoning  to  the 
villagers,  David,  Lacey,  and  Mahommed,  fought  for  their 
lives  in  the  swift  current,  swimming  at  an  angle  up- 
stream towards  the  shore;  for,  as  Mahommed  warned 
them,  there  were  rocks  below.  Lacey  was  a  good 
swimmer,  but  he  was  heavy,  and  David  was  a  better, 
but  Mahommed  had  proved  his  merit  in  the  past  on  many 
an  occasion  when  the  laws  of  the  river  were  reaching  out 
strong  hands  for  him.  Now,  as  Mahommed  swam,  he 
kept  moaning  to  himself,  cursing  his  father  and  his 
father's  son,  as  though  he  himself  were  to  blame  for  the 
crime  which  had  been  committed.  Here  was  a  plot, 
and  he  had  discovered  more  plots  than  one  against  his 
master.  The  bridge  -  opener  —  when  he  found  him  he 
would  take  him  into  the  desert  and  flay  him  alive;  and 
find  him  he  would.  His  watchful  eyes  were  on  the  hut 
by  the  bridge  where  this  man  should  be.  No  one  was 
visible.  He  cursed  the  man  and  all  his  ancestry  and 
all  his  posterity,  sleeping  and  waking,  until  the  day  when 
he,  Mahommed,  would  pinch  his  flesh  with  red-hot  irons. 
But  now  he  had  other  and  nearer  things  to  occupy  him,  for 
in  the  fierce  struggle  towards  the  shore  Lacey  found  him- 
self failing,  and  falling  down  the  stream.  Presently  both 
Mahommed  and  David  were  beside  him,  Lacey  angrily 
protesting  to  David  that  he  must  save  himself. 

"Say,  think  of  Egypt  and  all  the  rest.  You've  got 
to  save  yourself  —  let  me  splash  along!"  he  spluttered, 
breathing  hard,  his  shoulders  low  in  the  water,  his 
mouth  almost  submerged. 

But  David  and  Mahommed  fought  along  beside  him, 
each  determined  that  it  must  be  all  or  none;  and  pres- 
ently the  terror-stricken  fisherman  who  had  roused  the 
village,  still  shrieking  deliriously,  came  upon  them  in  a 
flat-bottomed  boat  manned  by  four  stalwart  fellaheen, 
and  the  tragedy  of  the  bridge  was  over —  But  not  the 
tragedy  of  Achmet  the  Rope-maker. 

1 66 


XIV 

BEYOND     THE     PALE 

Mahommed  Hassan  had  vowed  a  vow  in  the  river, 
and  he  kept  it  in  so  far  as  was  seemly.  His  soul  hungered 
for  the  faee  of  the  bridge-opener,  and  the  hunger  grew. 
He  was  scarce  passed  from  the  shivering  Nile  into  a  dry 
yelek,  had  hardly  taken  a  juicy  piece  from  the  cooking- 
pot  at  the  house  of  the  village  sheikh,  before  he  began  to 
cultivate  friends  who  could  help  him,  including  the  sheikh 
himself;  for  what  money  Mahommed  lacked  was  supplied 
by  Lacey,  who  had  a  reasoned  confidence  in  him,  and 
by  the  fiercely  indignant  Kaid  himself,  to  whom  Lacey 
and  Mahommed  went  secretly,  hiding  their  purpose  from 
David.  So,  there  were  a  score  of  villages  where  every 
sheikh,  eager  for  gold,  listened  for  the  whisper  of  the 
doorways,  and  every  slave  and  villager  listened  at  the 
sheikh's  door.  But  neither  to  sheikh  nor  to  villager  was 
it  given  to  find  the  man. 

But  one  evening  there  came  a-knockin,^  at  the  door  of 
the  house  which  Mahommed  still  kept  in  the  lowest  Mus 
lim  quarter  of  the  town,  a  woman  who  hid  her  face  and 
was  of  more  graceful  figure  than  was  familiar  in  those 
dark  purlieus.  The  door  was  at  once  opened,  and  Ma- 
hommed, with  a  cry,  drew  her  inside. 

"Zaida  —the  peace  of  God  be  upon  thee,"  he  said,  and 
gazed  lovingly  yet  sadly  upon  her,  for  she  had  greatly 
changed. 

"And  upon  thee  peace,  Mahommed,."  she  answered, 
and  sat  upon  the  floor,  her  head  upon  her  breast. 

12  l67 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Thou  hast  trouble — eat,"  he  said,  and  put  some  cakes 
of  dourha  and  a  meated  cucumber  beside  her. 

She  touched  the  food  with  her  fingers,  but  did  not  eat. 

"Is  thy  grief,  then,  for  thy  prince  who  gave  himself  to 
the  lions?"  he  asked. 

"Inshallah!  Harrik  is  in  the  bosom  of  Allah.  He  is 
with  Fatima  in  the  fields  of  heaven— was  I  as  Fatima  to 
him?     Nay,  the  dead  have  done  with  hurting." 

"Since  that  night  thou  hast  been  lost,  even  since 
Harrik  went.  I  searched  for  thee,  but  thou  wert  hid. 
Surely,  thou  knewest  mine  eyes  were  aching  and  my 
heart  was  cast  down — did  not  thou  and  I  feed  at  the 
same  breast?" 

"I  was  dead,  and  am  come  forth  from  the  grave;  but 
I  shall  go  again  into  the  dark  where  all  shall  forget,  even  I 
myself;  but  there  is  that  which  I  would  do,  which  thou 
must  do  for  me,  even  as  I  shall  do  good  to  thee,  that 
which  is  the  desire  of  my  heart." 

"Speak,  light  of  the  morning  and  blessing  of  thy 
mother's  soul,"  he  said,  and  crowded  into  his  mouth  a 
roll  of  meated  cucumber.  "Against  thy  feddan  shall  be 
set  my  date-tree;  it  hath  been  so  ever." 

"Listen,  then,  and  by  the  stone  of  the  Kaabah,  keep 
the  faith  which  has  been  thine  and  mine  since  my  moth- 
er, dying,  gave  me  to  thy  mother,  whose  milk  gave  me 
health  and,  in  my  youth,  beauty — and,  in  my  youth, 
beauty!"  Suddenly  she  buried  her  face  in  her  veil,  and 
her  body  shook  with  sobs  which  had  no  voice. 

Presently  she  continued:  "Listen,  and  by  Abraham 
and  Christ  and  all  the  Prophets,  and  by  Mahomet  the 
true  revealer,  give  me  thine  aid.  When  Harrik  gave  his 
life  to  the  lions,  I  fled  to  her  whom  I  had  loved  in  the 
house  of  Ka'id — Laka  the  Syrian,  afterwards  the  wife  of 
Achmet  Pasha.  By  Harrik's  death  I  was  free — no  more 
a  slave.  Once  Laka  had  been  the  joy  of  Achmet's  heart, 
but  because  she  had  no  child  she  was  despised  and  for- 

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THE    WEAVERS 

gotten.  Was  it  not  meet  I  should  fly  to  her  whose  sor- 
row would  hide  my  loneliness  ?  And  so  it  was — I  was 
hidden  in  the  harem  of  Achmet.  But  miserable  tongues 
— may  God  wither  them! — told  Achmet  of  my  presence. 
And  though  I  was  free  and  not  a  bondswoman,  he  broke 
upon  my  sleep.  ..." 

Mahommed's  eyes  blazed,  his  dark  skin  blackened  like 
a  coal,  and  he  muttered  maledictions  between  his  teeth. 

" .  .  .  In  the  morning  there  was  a  horror  upon  me 
for  which  there  is  no  name.  But  I  laughed  also  when 
I  took  a  dagger  and  stole  from  the  harem  to  find  him 
in  the  quarters  beyond  the  women's  gate.  I  found  him, 
but  I  held  my  hand,  for  one  was  with  him  who  spake  with 
a  tone  of  anger  and  of  death,  and  I  listened.  Then,  in- 
deed, I  rejoiced  for  thee,  for  I  have  found  thee  a  road 
to  honor  and  fortune.     The  man  was  a  bridge-opener — " 

"Ah! — 0  light  of  a  thousand  eyes,  fruit  of  the  tree 
of  Eden!"  cried  Mahommed,  and  fell  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet,  and  would  have  kissed  them  but  that,  with  a  cry, 
she  said,  "Nay,  nay,  touch  me  not.  But  listen.  .  .  . 
Ay,  it  was  Achmet  who  sought  to  drown  thy  Pasha  in 
the  Nile.  Thou  shalt  find  the  man  in  the  little  street 
called  Singat  in  the  Moosky,  at  the  house  of  Haleel  the 
date-seller." 

Mahommed  rocked  backwards  and  forwards  in  his  de- 
light. "Oh,  now  art  thou  like  a  lamp  of  Paradise,  even 
as  a  star  which  leadeth  an  army  of  stars,  beloved,"  he 
said.  He  rubbed  his  hands  together.  '  Thy  witness  and 
his  shall  send  Achmet  to  a  hell  of  scorpions,  and  I  shall 
slay  the  bridge-opener  with  my  own  hand — hath  not  the 
Effendina  secretly  said  so  to  me,  knowing  that  my  Pasha, 
the  Inglesi,  upon  whom  be  peace  forever  and  forever,  would 
forgive  him.     Ah,  thou  blossom  of  the  tree  of  trees — " 

She  rose  hastily,  and  when  he  would  have  kissed  her 
hand  she  drew  back  to  the  wall.  "Touch  me  not — nay, 
then,  Mahommed,  touch  me  not — " 

169 


THE    WEAVERS 

'Why  should  I  not  pay  thee  honor,  thou  princess 
among  women  ?  Hast  thou  not  the  brain  of  a  man,  and 
thy  beauty,  like  thy  heart,  is  it  not — " 

She  put  out  both  her  hands  and  spoke  sharply. 
"Enough,  my  brother,"  she  said.  'Thou  hast  thy  way 
to  great  honor.  Thou  shalt  yet  have  a  thousand  fed  dans 
of  well-watered  land  and  slaves  to  wait  upon  thee.  Get 
thee  to  the  house  of  Haleel.  There  shall  the  blow  fall 
on  the  head  of  Achmet,  the  blow  which  was  mine  to 
strike,  but  that  Allah  stayed  my  hand  that  I  might  do 
thee  and  thy  Pasha  good,  and  to  give  the  soul-slayer 
and  the  body-slayer  into  the  hands  of  Kaid,  upon  whom 
be  everlasting  peace!"  Her  voice  dropped  low.  'Thou 
saidst  but  now  that  I  had  beauty.  Is  there  yet  any 
beauty  in  my  face?"  She  lowered  her  yashmak  and 
looked  at  him  with  burning  eyes. 

"Thou  art  altogether  beautiful,"  he  answered,  "but 
there  is  a  strangeness  to  thy  beauty  like  none  I  have 
seen ;  as  if  upon  the  face  of  an  angel  there  fell  a  mist- 
nay,  I  have  not  words  to  make  it  plain  to  thee." 

With  a  great  sigh,  and  yet  with  the  tenseness  gone 
from  her  eyes,  she  slowly  drew  the  veil  up  again  till  only 
her  eyes  were  visible.  "  It  is  well,"  she  answered.  "Now, 
I  have  heard  that  to-morrow  night  Prince  Kaid  will  sit 
in  the  small  courtyard  of  the  blue  tiles  by  the  harem 
to  feast  with  his  friends,  ere  the  army  goes  into  the  desert 
at  the  next  sunrise.     Achmet  is  bidden  to  the  feast." 

"It  is  so,  O  beloved!" 

'There  will  be  dancers  and  singers  to  make  the  feast 
worthy?" 

"At  such  a  time  it  will  be  so." 

"Then  this  thou  shalt  do.  See  to  it  that  I  shall  be 
among  the  singers,  and  when  all  have  danced  and  sung, 
that  I  shall  sing,  and  lie  brought  before  Kaid." 

"Inshallah!  It  shall  be  so.  Thou  dost  desire  to  see 
Kaid — in  truth,  thou  hast  memory,  beloved!" 

i  7o 


THE    WEAVERS 

She  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "Go  upon  thy  busi- 
ness. Dost  thou  not  desire  the  blood  of  Achmet  and 
the  bridge-opener?" 

Mahommed  laughed,  and  joyfully  beat  his  breast, 
with  whispered  exclamations,  and  made  ready  to  go. 
"And  thou?"  he  asked. 

"Am  I  not  welcome  here?"  she  replied  wearily. 

"O  my  sister,  thou  art  the  master  of  my  life  and  all 
that  I  have,"  he  exclaimed,  and  a  moment  afterwards 
he  was  speeding  towards  Kaid's  Palace. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  day  of  his  banishment, 
Achmet  the  Ropemaker  was  invited  to  Kaid's  Palace. 
Coming,  he  was  received  with  careless  consideraton  by 
the  Prince.  Behind  his  long,  harsh  face  and  sullen  eyes 
a  devil  was  raging,  because  of  all  his  plans  that  had 
gone  awry,  and  because  the  man  he  had  sought  to  kill 
still  served  the  Effendina,  putting  a  blight  upon  Egypt. 
To-morrow  he,  Achmet,  must  go  into  the  desert  with 
the  army,  and  this  hated  Inglesi  would  remain  behind 
to  have  his  will  with  Kaid.  The  one  drop  of  comfort  in 
his  cup  was  the  fact  that  the  displeasure  of  the  Effendina 
against  himself  was  removed,  and  that  he  had,  there- 
fore, his  foot  once  more  inside  the  Palace.  When  he 
came  back  from  the  war  he  would  win  his  way  to  pow*  r 
again.  Meanwhile,  he  cursed  the  man  who  had  eluded 
the  death  he  had  prepared  for  him.  With  his  own  eyes 
had  he  not  seen,  from  a  hilltop,  the  train  plunge  to  de- 
struction, and  had  he  not  once  more  got  off  his  horse 
and  knelt  upon  his  sheepskin  and  given  thanks  to  Allah 

—a  devout  Arab  obeying  the  sunset  call  to  prayer,  as 

David  had  observed  from  the  train  ? 

One  by  one,  two  by  two,  group  by  group,  the  unveiled 
dancers  came  and  went;  the  singers  sang  behind  the 
screen  provided  for  Mr  m,  so  thai   none  mighl      ie  their 

[7I 


THE    WEAVERS 

faces,  after  the  custom.  At  last,  however,  Kaid  and  his 
guests  grew  listless,  and  smoked  and  talked  idly.  Yet 
there  was  in  the  eyes  of  Kaid  a  watchfulness  unseen  by 
any  save  a  fellah  who  squatted  in  a  corner  eating  sweet- 
meats, and  a  hidden  singer  waiting  until  she  should  be 
called  before  the  Prince  Pasha.  The  singer's  glances 
continually  flashed  between  Kaid  and  Achmet.  At  last, 
with  gleaming  eyes,  she  saw  six  Nubian  slaves  steal  si- 
lently behind  Achmet.  One,  also,  of  great  strength, 
came  suddenly  and  stood  before  him.  In  his  hands  was 
a  leathern  thong. 

Achmet  saw,  felt  the  presence  of  the  slaves  behind 
him,  and  shrank  back  numbed  and  appalled.  A  mist 
came  before  his  eyes ;  the  voice  he  heard  summoning  him 
to  stand  up  seemed  to  come  from  infinite  distances.  The 
hand  of  doom  had  fallen  like  a  thunderbolt.  The  leath- 
ern thong  in  the  hands  of  the  slave  was  the  token  of 
instant  death.  There  was  no  chance  of  escape.  The 
Nubians  had  him  at  their  mercy.  As  his  brain  struggled 
to  regain  its  understanding,  he  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  David 
enter  the  courtyard  and  come  towards  Kaid. 

Suddenly  David  stopped  in  amazement,  seeing  Ach- 
met. Inquiringly  he  looked  at  Kaid,  who  spoke  earnest- 
ly to  him  in  a  low  tone.  Whereupon  David  turned  his 
head  away,  but  after  a  moment  fixed  his  eyes  on  Achmet. 

Kaid  motioned  all  his  startled  guests  to  come  nearer. 
Then  in  strong,  unmerciful  voice  he  laid  Achmet's  crime 
before  them,  and  told  the  story  of  the  bridge  -  opener, 
who  had  that  day  expiated  his  crime  in  the  desert  by  the 
hands  of  Mahommed — but  not  with  torture,  as  Mahom- 
med  had  hoped  might  be. 

"What  shall  be  his  punishment — so  foul,  so  wolfish?" 
Kaid  asked  of  them  all.  A  dozen  voices  answered,  some 
one  terrible  thing,  some  another. 

"Mercy!"  moaned  Achmet  aghast.  "Mercy,  Saadat!" 
he  cried  to  David. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

David  looked  at  him  calmly.  There  was  little  mercy 
in  his  eyes  as  he  answered:  "Thy  crimes  sent  to  their 
death  in  the  Nile  those  who  never  injured  thee.  Dost 
thou  quarrel  with  justice  ?  Compose  thy  soul,  and  I  pray 
only  the  Effendina  to  give  thee  that  seemly  death  thou 
didst  deny  thy  victims. ' '     He  bowed  respectfully  to  Kaid. 

Kaid  frowned.  "The  ways  of  Egypt  are  the  ways  of 
Egypt,  and  not  of  the  land  once  thine,"  he  answered 
shortly.  Then,  tmder  the  spell  of  that  influence  which 
he  had  never  yet  been  able  to  resist,  he  added  to  the 
slaves  :  "Take  him  aside.  I  will  think  upon  it.  .  .  .  But 
he  shall  die  at  sunrise  ere  the  army  goes.  Shall  not  jus- 
tice be  the  gift  of  Kaid  for  an  example  and  a  warning  ? 
Take  him  away  a  little.     I  will  decide." 

As  Achmet  and  the  slaves  disappeared  into  a  dark 
corner  of  the  courtyard,  Kaid  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  upon 
the  hint,  his  guests,  murmuring  praises  of  his  justice  and 
his  mercy  and  his  wisdom,  slowly  melted  from  the  court- 
yard ;  but  once  outside  they  hastened  to  proclaim  in  the 
four  quarters  of  Cairo  how  yet  again  the  English  Pasha 
had  picked  from  the  Tree  of  Life  an  apple  of  fortune. 

The  cqurtyard  was  now  empty,  save  for  the  servants 
of  the  Prince,  David  and  Mahommed,  and  two  officers 
in  whom  David  had  advised  Kaid  to  put  trust.  Pres- 
ently one  of  these  officers  said:  "There  is  another  singer, 
and  the  last.     Is  it  the  Effendina's  pleasure?" 

Kaid  made  a  gesture  of  assent,  sat  down,  and  took  the 
tern  of  a  narghileh  between  his  lips.  For  a  moment 
there  was  silence,  and  then,  out  upon  the  sweet,  perfumed 
night,  over  which  the  stars  hung  brilliant  and  soft  and 
near,  a  voice,  at  first  quietly,  then  fully,  and  palpitating 
with  feeling,  poured  forth  an  Eastern  love-song: 

'Take  thou  thy  flight,  O  soul!     Thou  hast  no  more 
The  gladness  of  the  morning!     Ah,  the  perfumed  roses 
My  love  [aid  on  my  bosom  as  I  slept! 
How  (li<l   he  wake  me  with  his  lips  upon  mine  eyes, 

*73 


THE    WEAVERS 

How  did  the  singers  carol — the  singers  of  my  soul 

That  nest  among  the  thoughts  of  my  beloved !  .  .  . 

All  silent  now,  the  choruses  are  gone, 

The  windows  of  my  soul  are  closed;  no  more 

Mine  eyes  look  gladly  out  to  see  my  lover  come. 

There  is  no  more  to  do,  no  more  to  say: 

Take  flight,  my  soul,  my  love  returns  no  more!" 

At  the  first  note  Kaid  started,  and  his  eyes  fastened 
upon  the  screen  behind  which  sat  the  singer.  Then, 
as  the  voice,  in  sweet  anguish,  filled  the  courtyard,  en- 
trancing them  all,  rose  higher  and  higher,  fell  and  died 
away,  he  got  to  his  feet,  and  called  out  hoarsely,  "Come 
— come  forth!" 

Slowly  a  graceful  veiled  figure  came  from  behind  the 
great  screen.     He  took  a  step  forward. 

"Zaida!    Zaida!"  he  said  gently,  amazedly. 

She  salaamed  low.  "Forgive  me,  O  my  lord,"  she 
said  in  a  whispering  voice,  drawing  her  veil  about  her 
head.  "It  was  my  soul's  desire  to  look  upon  thy  face 
once  more." 

"Whither  didst  thou  go  at  Harrik's  death?  I  sent  to 
find  thee,  and  give  thee  safety;  but  thou  wert  gone,  none 
knew  where." 

"O  my  lord,  what  was  I  but  a  mote  in  thy  sun,  that 
thou  shouldst  seek  me?" 

Kaid's  eyes  fell,  and  he  murmured  to  himself  a  mo- 
ment, then  he  said  slowly:  "Thou  didst  save  Egypt, 
thou  and  my  friend" — he  gestured  towards  David— 
"and  my  life  also,  and  all  else  that  is  worth.  Therefore 
bounty,  and  safety,  and  all  thy  desires  were  thy  due. 
Kaid  is  no  ingrate — no,  by  the  hand  of  Moses  that  smote 
at  Siniai!" 

She  made  a  pathetic  motion  of  her  hands.  "By 
Harrik's  death  I  am  free,  a  slave  no  longer.  O  my  lord, 
where  I  go  bounty  and  famine  are  the  same." 

Kaid  took  a  step  forward.     "Let  me  see  thy  face,"  he 

!74 


THE    WEAVERS 

said,  something  strange   in  her  tone  moving  him  with 
awe. 

She  lowered  her  veil  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  Her 
wan  beauty  smote  him,  conquered  him,  the  exquisite  pain 
in  her  face  filled  Kaid's  eyes  with  foreboding,  and  pierced 
his  heart. 

"O  cursed  day  that  saw  thee  leave  these  walls!  I  did 
it  for  thy  good — -thou  wert  so  young;  thy  life  was  all 
before  thee!  But  now  —  come,  Zaida,  here  in  Kaid's 
Palace  thou  shalt  have  a  home,  and  be  at  peace,  for  I 
see  that  thou  hast  suffered.  Surely  it  shall  be  said 
that  Kaid  honors  thee."  He  reached  out  to  take  her 
hand. 

She  had  listened  like  one  in  a  dream,  but,  as  he  was 
about  to  touch  her,  she  suddenly  drew  back,  veiled  her 
face,  save  for  the  eyes,  and  said  in  a  voice  of  agony: 
"  Unclean,  unclean!     My  lord,  I  am  a  leper!" 

An  awed  and  awful  silence  fell  upon  them  all.  Kaid 
drew  back  as  though  smitten  by  a  blow. 

Presently,  upon  the  silence,  her  voice  sharp  with  agony 
said,  —"I  am  a  leper,  and  I  go  to  that  desert  place  which 
my  lord  has  set  apart  for  lepers,  where,  dead  to  the  world , 
I  shall  watch  the  dreadful  years  come  and  go.  Behold,  I 
would  die,  but  that  I  have  a  sister  there  these  many  years, 
and  her  sick  soul  lives  in  loneliness.  O  my  lord,  forgive 
me.  Here  was  I  happy;  here  of  old  I  did  sing  to  thee, 
and  I  came  to  sing  to  thee  once  more  a  death  -so 
Also,  I  came  to  see  thee  do  justice,  ere  I  went  from  thy 
face  forever." 

Kaid's  head  was  lowered  on  his  breast.  He  shuddered. 
"Thou  art  so  beautiful — thy  voice,  all!  Thou  wouldst 
see  justice— speak!  Justice  shall  be  made  plain  before 
thee." 

Twice  she  essayed  to  speak,  and  could  not;  but  from 
his  sweetmeats  and  the  shadow;  Mahommed  crept  for- 
ward, kissed  the  ground  before  Kaid,  and  said,  "Effen 

175 


THE    WEAVERS 

dina,  thou  knowest  me  as  the  servant  of  thy  high  servant, 
Claridge  Pasha." 

"I  know  thee — proceed." 

"Behold,  she  whom  God  has  smitten  man  smote  first. 
I  am  her  foster-brother — from  the  same  breast  we  drew 
the  food  of  life.  Thou  wouldst  do  justice,  0  Effendina; 
but  canst  thou  do  double  justice — ay,  a  thousandfold? 
Then" — his  voice  raised  almost  shrilly — "then  do  it 
upon  Achmet  Pasha.  She  —  Zaida  —  told  me  where  I 
should  find  the  bridge-opener." 

"Zaida  once  more!"  Kaid  murmured. 

"She  had  learned  all  in  Achmet's  harem  —  hearing 
speech  between  Achmet  and  the  man  whom  thou  didst 
deliver  to  my  hands  yesterday." 

"Zaida — in  Achmet's  harem?"  Kaid  turned  upon  her. 

Swiftly  she  told  her  dreadful  tale,  how,  after  Achmet 
had  murdered  all  of  her  except  her  body,  she  rose  up  to 
kill  herself;  but  fainting,  fell  upon  a  burning  brazier, 
and  her  hand  thrust  accidentally  in  the  live  coals  felt 
no  pain.  "And  behold,  O  my  lord,  I  knew  I  was  a 
leper;  and  I  remembered  my  sister  and  lived  on."  So 
she  ended,  in  a  voice  numbed  and  tuneless. 

Kaid  trembled  with  rage,  and  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice, 
"Bring  Achmet  forth." 

As  a  slave  sped  upon  the  errand,  David  laid  a  hand  on 
Ka'id's  arm,  and  whispered  to  him  earnestly.  Kaid's 
savage  frown  cleared  away,  and  his  rage  calmed  down; 
but  an  inflexible  look  came  into  his  face,  a  look  which 
petrified  the  ruined  Achmet  as  he  salaamed  before  him. 

"Know  thy  punishment,  son  of  a  dog  with  a  dog's 
heart,  and  prepare  for  a  daily  death,"  said  Kaid.  "This 
woman  thou  didst  so  foully  wrong,  even  when  thou  didst 
wrong  her,  she  was  a  leper." 

A  low  cry  broke  from  Achmet,  for  now  when  death 
came  he  must  go  unclean  to  the  after-world,  forbidden 
Allah's  presence.     Broken  and  abject,  he  listened. 

176 


THE    WEAVERS 

"She  knew  not,  till  thou  wert  gone,"  continued  Kaid. 
"She  is  innocent  before  the  law.  But  thou — beast  of  the 
slime — hear  thy  sentence.  There  is  in  the  far  desert  a 
place  where  lepers  live.  There,  once  a  year,  one  caravan 
comes,  and,  at  the  outskirts  of  the  place  unclean,  leaves 
food  and  needful  things  for  another  year,  and  returns 
again  to  Egypt  after  many  days.  From  that  place  there 
is  no  escape — the  desert  is  as  the  sea,  and  upon  that  sea 
there  is  no  ghiassa  to  sail  to  a  farther  shore.  It  is  the 
leper  land.  Thither  thou  shalt  go  to  wait  upon  this  wom- 
an thou  hast  savagely  wronged,  and  upon  her  kind,  till 
thou  diest.     It  shall  be  so." 

"Mercy!  mercy!"  Achmct  cried,  horror-stricken,  and 
turned  to  David.  "Thou  art  merciful.  Speak  for  me, 
Saadat." 

"When  didst  thou  have  mercy?"  asked  David.  "Thy 
crimes  are  against  humanity." 

Kaid  made  a  motion,  and,  with  dragging  feet,  Achmet 
passed  from  the  haunts  of  familiar  faces. 

For  a  moment  Kaid  stood  and  looked  at  Zaida,  rigid 
and  stricken  in  that  awful  isolation  which  is  the  leper's 
doom.     Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  her  head  was  high. 

"Wilt  thou  not  die?"  Kaid  asked  her  gently. 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  her  hands  folded  on 
her  breast.     "My  sister  is  there,"  she  said  at  last. 

There  was  an  instant's  stillness,  then  Kaid  added  with 
a  voice  of  grief:  "Peace  be  upon  thee,  Zaida.  Life  is  but  a 
spark.  If  death  comes  not  to-day,  it  will  to-morrow,  for 
thee — for  me.     Inshallah,  peace  be  upon  thee!" 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him.  Seeing  what 
was  in  his  face,  they  lighted  with  a  great  light  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"And  upon  thee  peace,  O  my  lord,  forever  and  for- 
ever!" she  said  softly,  and,  turning,  left  the  courtyard, 
followed  at  a  distance  by  Mahommed  Hassan. 

Kaid  remained  motionless,  looking  after  her, 

i77 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  broke  in  on  his  abstraction.  "The  army  at 
sunrise — thou  wilt  speak  to  it,  Effendina?" 

Kaid  roused  himself .  "What  shall  I  say?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"Tell  them  they  shall  be  clothed  and  fed,  and  to  every 
man  or  his  family  three  hundred  piastres  at  the  end." 

"Who  will  do  this?"  asked  Kaid  incredulously. 

"Thou,  Effendina — Egypt  and  thou  and  I." 

"So  be  it,"  answered  Kaid. 

As  they  left  the  courtyard,  he  said  suddenly  to  an  offi- 
cer behind  him: 

' '  The  caravan  to  the  Place  of  Lepers — add  to  the  stores 
fifty  camel  -  loads  this  year,  and  each  year  hereafter. 
Have  heed  to  it.  Ere  it  starts,  come  to  me.  I  would 
see  all  with  mine  own  eyes." 


BOOK    III 


XV 

soolsby's   hand   upon   the   curtain 

Faith  raised  her  eyes  from  the  paper  before  her  and 
poised  her  head  meditatively. 

"How  long  is  it,  friend,  since — " 

"Since  he  went  to  Egypt?" 

"Nay,  since  thee — " 

"Since  I  went  to  Mass?"  he  grumbled  humorously. 

She  laughed  whimsically.  "Nay,  then,  since  thee 
made  the  promise — " 

'That  I  would  drink  no  more  till  his  return — ay,  that 
was  my  bargain;  till  then  and  no  longer!  I  am  not  to 
be  held  back  then,  unless  I  change  my  mind  when  I  see 
him.     Well,  'tis  three  years  since    -" 

"Three  years!  Time  hasn't  flown.  Is  it  not  like  an 
old  memory,  his  living  here  in  this  house,  Soolsby,  and 
all  that  happened  then?" 

Soolsby  looked  at  her  over  his  glasses,  resting  his  chin 
on  the  back  of  the  chair  he  was  caning,  and  his  lips 
worked  in  and  out  with  a  suppressed  smile. 

'Time's  got  naught  to  do  with  you.  He's  afeard  of 
you,"  he  continued.     "He  lets  you  be." 

"Friend,  thee  knows  I  am  almost  an  old  woman  now." 
She  made  marks  abstractedly  upon  the  corner  of  a  piece 
of  paper.  "Unless  my  hair  turns  gray  presently  I  must 
bleach  it,  for  'twill  seem  improper  it  should  remain  so 
brown." 

She   smoothed  it  back   with    her   hand.     Try   as   she 

181 


THE    WEAVERS 

would  to  keep  it  trim  after  the  manner  of  her  people,  it 
still  waved  loosely  on  her  forehead  and  over  her  ears. 
And  the  gray  bonnet  she  wore  but  added  piquancy  to  its 
luxuriance,  gave  a  sweet  gravity  to  the  demure  beauty 
of  the  face  it  sheltered. 

"I  am  thirty  now,"  she  murmured  with  a  sigh,  and 
went  on  writing. 

The  old  man's  fingers  moved  quickly  among  the  strips 
of  cane,  and,  after  a  silence,  without  raising  his  head,  he 
said:   "Thirty,  it  means  naught." 

"To  those  without  understanding,"  she  rejoined  dryly. 

" 'Tis  tough  understanding  why  there's  no  wedding- 
ring  on  yonder  finger.  There's  been  many  a  man  that's 
wanted  it,  that's  true — the  Squire's  son  from  Bridgley, 
the  lord  of  Axwood  Manor,  the  long  soldier  from  Shipley 
Wood,  and  doctors  and  such  folk  a-plenty.  There's 
where  understanding  fails." 

Faith's  face  flushed,  then  it  became  pale,  and  her  eyes, 
suffused,  dropped  upon  the  paper  before  her.  At  first  it 
seemed  as  though  she  must  resent  his  boldness;  but  she 
had  mad  a  friend  of  him  these  years  past,  and  she  knew 
he  meant  no  rudeness.  In  the  past  they  had  talked  of 
things  deeper  and  more  intimate  still.  Yet  there  was 
that  in  his  words  which  touched  a  sensitive  corner  of 
her  nature. 

"Why  should  I  be  marrying?"  she  asked  presently. 
"There  was  my  sister's  son  all  those  years — I  had  to 
to  care  for  him." 

"Ay,  older  than  him  by  a  thimbleful!"  he  rejoined. 

"Nay,  till  he  came  to  live  in  this  hut  alone,  older  by 
many  a  year.  Since  then  he  is  older  than  me  by  fifty. 
I  had  not  thought  of  marriage  before  he  went  away. 
Squire's  son,  soldier,  or  pillman,  what  were  they  to  me! 
He  needed  me.  They  came,  did  they?  Well,  and  if 
they  came?" 

"And  since  the  Egyptian  went?" 

182 


THE    WEAVERS 

A  sort  of  sob  came  into  her  throat.  "He  does  not 
need  me  now,  but  he  may — he  will  one  day;  and  then  I 
shall  be  ready.     But  now — " 

Old  Soolsby's  face  turned  away.  His  house  overlooked 
every  house  in  the  valley  beneath;  he  could  see  nearly 
every  garden;  he  could  even  recognize  many  in  the  far 
streets.  Besides,  there  hung  along  two  nails  on  the  wall 
a  telescope,  relic  of  days  when  he  sailed  the  main.  The 
grounds  of  the  Cloistered  House  and  the  fruit-decked 
garden  wall  of  the  Red  Mansion  were  ever  within  his 
vision.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  he  had  seen  what  he  had 
seen,  and  dark  feelings,  harsh  emotions,  had  been  roused 
in  him. 

"He  will  need  us  both  —  the  Egyptian  will  need  us 
both  one  day,"  he  answered  now;  "you  more  than  any, 
me  because  I  can  help  him,  too — ay,  I  can  help  him- 
But  married  or  single  you  could  help  him;  so  why  waste 
your  days  here?" 

"Is  it  wasting  my  days  to  stay  with  my  father?  He 
is  lonely;  most  lonely  since  our  Davy  went  away;  and 
troubled,  too,  for  the  dangers  of  that  life  yonder.  His 
voice  used  to  shake  when  he  prayed,  in  those  days  when 
Davy  was  away  in  the  desert,  down  at  Darfur  and  else- 
where among  the  rebel  tribes.  He  frightened  me  then, 
he  was  so  stern  and  still.  Ah,  but  that  day  when  we 
knew  he  was  safe,  I  was  eighteen,  and  no  more!"  she 
added,  smiling.  "But,  think  you,  I  could  marry  while 
my  life  is  so  tied  to  him  and  to  our  Egyptian  ?" 

No  one  looking  at  her  limpid,  shining,  blue  eyes  but 
would  have  set  her  down  for  twenty-three  or  twenty- 
four,  for  not  a  line  showed  on  her  smooth  face;  she  was 
exquisite  of  limb  and  feature,  and  had  the  lissomeness 
of  a  girl  of  fifteen.  There  was  in  her  eyes,  however,  an 
unquiet  sadness;  she  had  abstracted  moments  when  her 
mind  seemed  fixed  on  soim-  vexing  problem.  Such  a 
mood  suddenly  came  upon  her  now.     The  pen  lay  by  the 

13  i&3 


THE    WEAVERS 

paper  untouched,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  and  a  long 
silence  fell  upon  them,  broken  only  by  the  twanging  of 
the  strips  of  cane  in  Soolsby's  hands.  At  last,  however, 
even  this  sound  ceased;  and  the  two  scarce  moved  as 
the  sun  drew  towards  the  middle  afternoon.  At  last 
they  were  roused  by  the  sound  of  a  horn,  and,  looking 
down,  they  saw  a  four-in-hand  drawing  smartly  down 
the  road  to  the  village  over  the  gorse-spread  common, 
till  it  stopped  at  the  Cloistered  House.  As  Faith  looked, 
her  face  slightly  flushed.  She  bent  forward  till  she  saw 
one  figure  get  down  and,  waving  a  hand  to  the  party  on 
the  coach  as  it  moved  on,  disappear  into  the  gateway  of 
the  Cloistered  House. 

"What  is  the  office  they  have  given  him?"  asked 
Soolsby,  disapproval  in  his  tone,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
disappearing  figure. 

"They  have  made  Lord  Eglington  Under-Secretary 
for  Foreign  Affairs,"  she  answered. 

"And  what  means  that  to  a  common  mind?" 

"That  what  his  Government  does  in  Egypt  will  mean 
good  or  bad  to  our  Egyptian,"  she  returned. 

"That  he  can  do  our  man  good  or  ill  ?"  Soolsby  asked 
sharply — "that  he,  yonder,  can  do  that?" 

She  inclined  her  head. 

"When  I  see  him  doing  ill — well,  when  I  see  him  do- 
ing that" — he  snatched  up  a  piece  of  wood  from  the 
floor — "then  I  will  break  him  so!" 

He  snapped  the  stick  across  his  knee,  and  threw  the 
pieces  on  the  ground.  He  was  excited.  He  got  to  his 
feet  and  walked  up  and  down  the  little  room,  his  lips 
shut  tight,  his  round  eyes  flaring. 

Faith  watched  him  in  astonishment.  In  the  past  she 
had  seen  his  face  cloud  over,  his  eyes  grow  sulky,  at 
the  mention  of  Lord  Eglington's  name;  she  knew  that 
Soolsby  hated  him;  but  his  aversion  now  was  more 
definite  and  violent  than  he  had  before  shown,  save  on 

184 


THE    WEAVERS 

that  night  long  ago  when  David  went  first  to  Egypt,  and 
she  had  heard  hard  words  between  them  in  this  same 
hut.  She  supposed  it  one  of  those  antipathies  which 
often  grow  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  social  position  of  those 
concerned.     She  replied  in  a  soothing  voice: 

"Then  wc  shall  hope  that  he  will  do  our  Davy  only 
good." 

'  You  would  not  wish  me  to  break  his  lordship  ?  You 
would  not  wish  it?"  He  came  over  to  her,  and  looked 
sharply  at  her.  "You  would  not  wish  it?"  he  repeated 
meaningly. 

She  evaded  his  question.  "Lord  Eglington  will  be  a 
great  man  one  day  perhaps,"  she  answered.  "He  has 
made  his  way  quickly.  How  high  he  has  climbed  in 
three  years — how  high!" 

Soolsby's  anger  was  not  lessened.  "Pooh!  Pooh! 
He  is  an  Earl.  An  Earl  has  all  with  him  at  the  start — 
name,  place,  and  all.  But  look  at  our  Egyptian!  Look 
at  Egyptian  David — what  had  he  but  his  head  and  an 
honest  mind?  What  is  he?  He  is  the  great  man  of 
Egypt.  Tell  me,  who  helped  Egyptian  David?  That 
second-best  lordship  yonder,  he  crept  about  coaxing  this 
one  and  wheedling  that.  I  know  him  —  I  know  him. 
He  wheedles  and  wheedles.  No  matter  whether  'tis  a 
babe  or  an  old  woman,  he'll  talk,  and  talk,  and  talk, 
till  they  believe  in  him,  poor  folks!  No  one's  too  small 
for  his  net.  There's  Martha  Higham  yonder.  She's 
forty-five.  If  he  sees  her,  as  sure  as  eggs  he'll  make 
love  to  her,  and  fill  her  ears  with  words  she'd  never 
heard  before,  and  'd  never  hear  at  all  if  not  from  him. 
Ay,  there's  no  man  too  sour  and  no  woman  too  old  that 
he'll  not  blandish,  if  he  gets  the  chance." 

As  he  spoke  Faith  shut  her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  clasped 
tightly  together — beautiful,  long,  tapering  fingers,  like 
those  in  Romney's  pictures.  When  he  stopped,  her  eyes 
opened  slowly,  and  she  gazed  before  her  down  towards 

185 


THE    WEAVERS 

that  garden  by  the  Red  Mansion  where  her  lifetime  had 
been  spent. 

"Thee  says  hard  words,  Soolsby,"  she  rejoined  gently. 
"But  maybe  thee  is  right."  Then  a  flash  of  humor 
passed  over  her  face.  "Suppose  we  ask  Martha  Higham 
if  the  Earl  has  '  blandished '  her.  If  the  Earl  has  blan- 
dished Martha,  he  is  the  very  captain  of  deceit.  Why,  he 
has  himself  but  twenty-eight  years.  Will  a  man  speak 
so  to  one  older  than  himself,  save  in  mockery?  So. 
if  thee  is  right  in  this,  then — -then  if  he  speak  well  to 
deceive  and  to  serve  his  turn,  he  will  also  speak  ill;  and 
he  will  do  ill  when  it  may  serve  his  turn;  and  so  he  may 
do  our  Davy  ill,  as  thee  says,  Soolsby." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  made  as  if  to  go,  but  she  kept 
her  face  from  him.  Presently,  however,  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him.  "If  he  does  ill  to  Davy — there  will  be 
those  like  thee,  Soolsby,  who  will  not  spare  him." 

His  fingers  opened  and  shut  maliciously,  he  nodded 
dour  assent.  After  an  instant,  while  he  watched  her, 
she  added:  "Thee  has  not  heard  my  lord  is  to  marry?" 

"Marry — who  is  the  blind  lass?" 

"Her  name  is  Mary  on,  Miss  Hylda  Mary  on;  and  she 
has  a  great  fortune.  But  within  a  month  it  is  to  be. 
You  remember  the  woman  of  the  cross-roads,  her  that 
our  Davy — " 

"Her  the  Egyptian  kissed,  and  put  his  watch  in  her 
belt— ay,  Kate  Heaver!" 

"She  is  now  maid  to  her  Lord  Eglington  will  wed. 
She  is  to  spend  to-night  with  us." 

"Where  is  her  lad  that  was,  that  the  Egyptian  rolled 
like  dough  in  a  trough?" 

"Jasper  Kimber?  He  is  at  Sheffield.  He  has  been 
up  and  down,  now  sober  for  a  year,  now  drunken  for  a 
month,  now  in  now  out  of  a  place,  until  this  past  year. 
But  for  this  whole  year  he  has  been  sober,  and  he  may 
keep  his  pledge.     He  is  working  in  the  trades-unions. 

186 


THE    WEAVERS 

Among  his  fellow- workers  he  is  called  a  politician  —  if 
loud  speaking  and  boasting  can  make  one.  Yet  if  these 
doings  give  him  stimulant  instead  of  drink,  who  shall 
complain?" 

Soolsby's  head  was  down.  He  was  looking  out  over 
the  far  hills,  while  the  strips  of  cane  were  idle  in  his  hands. 
"Ay,  'tis  true — 'tis  true,"  he  nodded.  "Give  a  man 
an  idee  which  keeps  him  cogitating,  makes  him  think 
he's  greater  than  he  is,  and  sets  his  pulses  beating,  why, 
that's  the  cure  to  drink.  Drink  is  friendship  and  good 
company  and  big  thoughts  while  it  lasts;  and  it's  lonely 
without  it,  if  you've  been  used  to  it.  Ay,  but  Kimber's 
way  is  best.  Get  an  idee  in  your  noddle,  to  do  a  thing 
that's  more  to  you  than  work  or  food  or  bed,  and  'twill 
be  more  than  drink,  too." 

He  nodded  to  himself,  then  began  weaving  the  strips 
of  cane  furiously.  Presently  he  stopped  again,  and 
threw  his  head  back  with  a  chuckle.  "Now,  wouldn't 
it  be  a  joke,  a  reg'lar  first-class  joke,  if  Kimber  and 
me  both  had  the  same  idee;  if  we  was  both  workin'  for 
the  same  thing — an'  didn't  know  it?  I  reckon  it  might 
be  so." 

'  What  end  is  thee  working  for,  friend?  If  the  public 
prints  speak  true,  Kimber  is  working  to  stand  for  Par- 
liament against  Lord  Eglington." 

Soolsby  grunted  and  laughed  in  his  throat.  "Now,  is 
that  the  game  of  Mister  Kimber?  Against  my  Lord 
Eglington!     Hey,  but  that's  a  joke,  my  lord!" 

"And  what  is  thee  working  for,  Soolsby?" 
'What  do  I  be  working  for?     To  get  the  Egyptian 
back  to  England — what  else?" 

"That  is  no  joke." 

"Ay,  but  'tis  a  joke."  The  old  man  chuckled.  "Tis 
the  best  joke  in  the  boilin'."  He  shook  his  head  and 
moved  his  body  backwards  and  forwards  with  glee.  "Me 
and  Kimber!     Me  and  Kimber!"  he  roared,  "and  neii  hi  r 

187 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  us  drunk  for  a  year — not  drunk  for  a  whole  year.  Me 
and  Kimber — and  him/" 

Faith  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Indeed,  I  see 
no  joke,  but  only  that  which  makes  my  heart  thankful, 
Soolsby." 

"Ay,  you  will  be  thankful,  you  will  be  thankful,  by 
and  by,"  he  said,  still  chuckling,  and  stood  up  respect- 
fully to  show  her  out. 


XVI 

THE    DEBT   AND   THE    ACCOUNTING 

His  forehead  frowning,  but  his  eyes  full  of  friendliness, 
Soolsby  watched  Faith  go  down  the  hillside  and  until  she 
reached  the  main  road.  Here,  instead  of  going  to  the 
Red  Mansion,  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  passed 
along  a  wooded  path  leading  to  the  Meeting-house  and 
the  graveyard.  It  was  a  perfect  day  of  early  summer, 
the  gorse  was  in  full  bloom,  and  the  may  and  the  haw- 
thorn were  alive  with  color.  The  path  she  had  taken  led 
through  a  narrow  lane, overhung  with  blossoms  and  green- 
ery. By  bearing  away  to  the  left  into  another  path, 
and  making  a  detour,  she  could  reach  the  Meeting-house 
through  a  narrow  lane  leading  past  a  now  disused  mill 
and  a  small,  strong  stream  flowing  from  the  hill  above. 

As  she  came  down  the  hill,  other  eyes  than  Soolsby's 
watched  her.  From  his  laboratory — the  laboratory  in 
which  his  father  had  worked,  in  which  he  had  lost  his 
life — Eglington  had  seen  the  trim,  graceful  figure.  He 
watched  it  till  it  moved  into  the  wooded  path.  Then  he 
left  his  garden,  and,  moving  across  a  field,  came  into  the 
path  ahead  of  her.  Walking  swiftly,  he  reached  the  old 
mill,  and  waited. 

She  came  slowly,  now  and  again  stooping  to  pick  a 
flower  and  place  it  in  her  belt.  Her  bonnet  was  slung  on 
her  arm,  her  hair  had  broken  a  little  loose  and  made  a 
sort  of  hood  round  the  face,  so  still,  so  composed,  into 
which  the  light  of  steady,  soft,  apprehending  eyes  threw 

189 


THE    WEAVERS 

a  gentle  radiance.  It  was  a  face  to  haunt  a  man  when 
the  storm  of  life  was  round  him.  It  had,  too,  a  courage 
which  might  easily  become  a  delicate  stubbornness,  a 
sense  of  duty  which  might  become  sternness,  if  roused 
by  a  sense  of  wrong  to  herself  or  others. 

She  reached  the  mill  and  stood  and  listened  towards 
the  stream  and  the  waterfall.  She  came  here  often. 
The  scene  quieted  her  in  moods  of  restlessness  which 
came  from  a  feeling  that  her  mission  was  interrupted, 
that  half  her  life's  work  had  been  suddenly  taken  from 
her.  When  David  went,  her  life  had  seemed  to  shrivel; 
for  with  him  she  had  developed  as  he  had  developed ;  and 
when  her  busy  care  of  him  was  withdrawn,  she  had  felt  a 
sort  of  paralysis  which,  in  a  sense,  had  never  left  her. 
Then  suitors  had  come — the  soldier  from  Shipley  Wood, 
the  lord  of  Axwood  Manor,  and  others,  and,  in  a  way,  a 
new  sense  was  born  in  her,  though  she  was  alive  to  the  fact 
that  the  fifteen  thousand  pounds  inherited  from  her  Uncle 
Benn  had  served  to  warm  the  air  about  her  into  a  wider 
circle.  Yet  it  was  neither  to  soldier,  nor  squire,  nor  civil 
engineer,  nor  surgeon  that  the  new  sense  stirring  in  her 
was  due.  The  spring  was  too  far  beneath  to  be  found 
by  them. 

When,  at  last,  she  raised  her  head,  Lord  Eglington  was 
in  the  path,  looking  at  her  with  a  half -smile.  She  did 
not  start,  but  her  face  turned  white,  and  a  mist  came 
before  her  eyes. 

Quickly,  however,  as  though  fearful  lest  he  should  think 
he  could  trouble  her  composure,  she  laid  a  hand  upon 
herself. 

He  came  near  to  her  and  held  out  his  hand.  "It  has 
been  a  long  six  months  since  we  met  here,"  he  said. 

She  made  no  motion  to  take  his  hand.  "I  find  days 
grow  shorter  as  I  grow  older,"  she  rejoined  steadily,  and 
smoothed  her  hair  with  her  hand,  making  ready  to  put 
on  her  bonnet. 

i  go 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Ah,  do  not  put  it  on,"  he  urged  quickly,  with  a 
gesture.     "It  becomes  you  so — on  your  arm." 

She  had  regained  her  self-possession.  Pride,  the  best 
weapon  of  a  woman,  the  best  tonic,  came  to  her  resource. 
"Thee  loves  to  please  thee  at  any  cost,"  she  replied.  She 
fastened  the  gray  strings  beneath  her  chin. 

"Would  it  be  costly  to  keep  the  bonnet  on  your  arm  ?" 

"It  is  my  pleasure  to  have  it  on  my  head,  and  my 
pleasure  has  some  value  to  myself." 

"A  moment  ago,"  he  rejoined  laughing,  "it  was  your 
pleasure  to  have  it  on  your  arm." 

"Are  all  to  be  monotonous  except  Lord  Eglington? 
Is  he  to  have  the  only  patent  of  change  ?" 

"Do  I  change?"  He  smiled  at  her  with  a  sense  of 
inquisition,  with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say,  "I  have 
lifted  the  veil  of  this  woman's  heart;  I  am  the  master  of 
the  situation." 

She  did  not  answer  to  the  obvious  meaning  of  his 
words,  but  said: 

"Thee  has  done  little  else  but  change,  so  far  as  eye 
can  see.  Thee  and  thy  family  were  once  of  Quaker 
faith,  but  thee  is  a  High  Churchman  now.  Yet  they 
said  a  year  ago  thee  was  a  sceptic  or  an  infidel." 

"There  is  force  in  what  you  say,"  he  replied.  "I 
have  an  inquiring  mind;  I  am  ever  open  to  reason. 
Confucius  said,  'It  is  only  the  supremely  wise  or  the 
deeply  ignorant  who  never  alter.'" 

"Thee  has  changed  politics.  Thee  made  a  sensation, 
but  that  was  not  enough.  Thee  that  was  a  rebel  be- 
came a  deserter." 

He  laughed.  "Ah,  I  was  open  to  conviction!  I  took 
my  life  in  my  hands,  defied  consequences."  He  laughed 
iin. 

"It  brought  office." 

"I  am  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs,"  he  mur- 
mured complacently. 

IOI 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Change  is  a  policy  with  thee,  I  think.  It  has  paid 
thee  well,  so  it  would  seem." 

"Only  a  fair  rate  of  interest  for  the  capital  invested 
and  the  risks  I've  taken,"  he  answered  with  an  amused 
look. 

"I  do  not  think  that  interest  will  increase.  Thee  has 
climbed  quickly,  but  fast  climbing  is  not  always  safe 
climbing." 

His  mood  changed.  His  voice  quickened,  his  face 
lowered.  "You  think  I  will  fail?  You  wish  me  to 
fail?" 

"In  so  far  as  thee  acts  uprightly,  I  wish  thee  well. 
But  if,  out  of  office,  thee  disregards  justice  and  con- 
science and  the  rights  of  others,  can  thee  be  just  and 
faithful  in  office  ?  Subtilty  will  not  always  avail.  The 
strong  man  takes  the  straight  course.  Subtilty  is  not 
intellect." 

He  flushed.  She  had  gone  to  the  weakest  point  in  his 
defences.  His  vanity  was  being  hurt.  She  had  an  ad- 
vantage now. 

"You  are  wrong,"  he  protested.  "You  do  not  under- 
stand public  life,  here  in  a  silly  Quaker  village." 

"Does  thee  think  that  all  that  happens  in  'public  life' 
is  of  consequence  ?  That  is  not  sensible.  Thee  is  in  the 
midst  of  a  thousand  immaterial  things,  though  they  have 
importance  for  the  moment.  But  the  chief  things  that 
matter  to  all,  does  thee  not  know  that  a  'silly  Quaker 
village'  may  realize  them  to  the  full — more  fully  be- 
cause we  see  them  apart  from  the  thousand  little  things 
that  do  not  matter?  I  remember  a  thing  in  political 
life  that  mattered.  It  was  at  Heddington  after  the 
massacre  at  Damascus.  Does  thee  think  that  we  did 
not  know  thee  spoke  without  principle  then,  and  only 
to  draw  notice  ?" 

'You  would  make  me  into  a  demagogue,"  he  said 
irritably. 

192 


THE    WEAVERS 

'Thee  is  a  demagogue,"  she  answered  candidly. 

"Why  did  you  never  say  all  this  to  me  long  ago? 
Years  have  passed  since  then,  and  since  then  you  and  I 
have — have  been  friends.     You  have — " 

He  paused,  for  she  made  a  protesting  motion,  and  a 
fire  sprang  into  her  eyes.     Her  voice  got  colder. 

"Thee  made  me  believe — ah,  how  many  times  did  we 
speak  together?  Six  times  it  was,  not  more.  Thee  made 
me  believe  that  what  I  thought  or  said  helped  thee  to 
see  things  better.  Thee  said  I  saw  things  truly  like  a 
child,  with  the  wisdom  of  a  woman.  Thee  remembers 
that?" 

"It  was  so,"  he  put  in  hastily. 

"Oh,  not  for  a  moment  so,  though  I  was  blinded  to 
think  for  an  instant  that  it  was.  Thee  subtly  took  the 
one  way  which  could  have  made  me  listen  to  thee.  Thee 
wanted  help,  thee  said;  and  if  a  word  of  mine  could  help 
thee  now  and  then,  should  I  withhold  it,  so  long  as  1 
thought  thee  honest?" 

"Do  you  think  I  was  not  honest  in  wanting  your 
friendship  ?" 

"Nay,  it  was  not  friendship  thee  wanted,  for  friend- 
ship means  a  giving  and  a  getting.  Thee  was  bent  on 
getting  what  was,  indeed,  of  but  little  value  save  to  the 
giver;  but  thee  gave  nothing;  thee  remembered  noth- 
ing of  what  was  given  thee." 

"It  is  not  so,  it  is  not  so,"  he  urged  eagerly,  nervous- 
ly.    "I  gave,  and  I  still  give." 

"In  those  old  days,  I  did  not  understand,"  she  wi 
on,  "what  it  was  thee  wanted.  I  know  now.  It  was 
to  know  the  heart  and  mind  of  a  woman — of  a  woman 
older  than  thee!  So  that  thee  should  have  such  sort  of 
experience,  though  I  was  but  a  foolish  choice  of  the  ex- 
periment They  say  thee  has  a  gift  for  chemistry  like 
thy  father;  but  if  thee  experiments  no  more  wisely  in  the 
laboratory  than  with  me,  thee  will  not  reach  distinction." 

i93 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Your  father  hated  my  father  and  did  not  believe  in 
him,  I  know  not  why,  and  you  are  now  hating  and  dis- 
believing me." 

"I  do  not  know  why  my  father  held  the  late  Earl  in 
abhorrence;  I  know  he  has  no  faith  in  thee;  and  I  did 
ill  in  listening  to  thee,  in  believing  for  one  moment  there 
was  truth  in  thee.  But  no,  no,  I  think  I  never  be- 
lieved it.  I  think  that  even  when  thee  said  most,  at 
heart  I  believed  least." 

"You  doubt  that?  You  doubt  all  I  said  to  you?"  he 
urged  softly,  coming  close  to  her. 

She  drew  aside  slightly.  She  had  steeled  herself  for 
this  inevitable  interview,  and  there  was  no  weakening 
of  her  defences;  but  a  great  sadness  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  spread  over  her  face,  and  to  this  was  added,  after  a 
moment,  a  pity  which  showed  the  distance  she  was  from 
him,  the  safety  in  which  she  stood. 

"I  remember  that  the  garden  was  beautiful,  and  that 
thee  spoke  as  though  thee  was  part  of  the  garden.  Thee 
remembers  that,  at  our  meeting  in  the  Cloistered  House, 
when  the  woman  was  ill,  I  had  no  faith  in  thee;  but  thee 
spoke  with  grace,  and  turned  common  things  round 
about,  so  that  they  seemed  different  to  the  ear  from  any 
past  hearing;  and  I  listened.  I  did  not  know,  and  I  do 
not  know  now,  why  it  is  my  duty  to  shun  any  of  thy 
name,  and  above  all  thyself;  but  it  has  been  so  com- 
manded by  my  father  all  my  life;  and  though  what  he 
says  may  be  in  a  little  wrong,  in  much  it  must  ever  be 
right." 

"And  so,  from  a  hatred  handed  down,  your  mind  has 
been  tuned  to  shun  even  when  your  heart  was  learning 
to  give  me  a  home — Faith?" 

She  straightened  herself.  "Friend,  thee  will  do  me 
the  courtesy  to  forget  to  use  my  Christian  name.  I  am 
not  a  child — indeed,  I  am  well  on  in  years" — he  smiled 
— "and  thee  has  no  friendship  or  kinship  for  warrant. 

194 


THE    WEAVERS 

If  my  mind  was  tuned  to  shun  thee,  I  gave  proof  that  it 
was  willing  to  take  thee  at  thine  own  worth,  even  against 
the  will  of  my  father,  against  the  desire  of  David,  who 
knew  thee  better  than  I — he  gauged  thee  at  first  glance." 

"You  have  become  a  philosopher  and  a  statesman," 
he  said  ironically.  "Has  your  nephew,  the  new  Joseph 
in  Egypt,  been  giving  you  instructions  in  high  poli- 
tics ?  Has  he  been  writing  the  Epistles  of  David  to  the 
Quakers?" 

"Thee  will  leave  his  name  apart,"  she  answered  with 
dignity.  "I  have  studied  neither  high  politics  nor  states- 
manship, though  in  the  days  when  thee  did  flatter  me 
thee  said  I  had  a  gift  for  such  things.  Thee  did  not 
speak  the  truth.  And  now  I  will  say  that  I  do  not 
respect  thee.  No  matter  how  high  thee  may  climb,  still 
I  shall  not  respect  thee;  for  thee  will  ever  gain  ends  by 
flattery,  by  sub  til  ty,  and  by  using  every  man  and  every 
woman  for  selfish  ends.  Thee  cannot  be  true — not  even 
to  that  which  by  nature  is  greatest  in  thee." 

He  withered  under  her  words. 

"And  what  is  greatest  in  me?"  he  asked  abruptly,  his 
coolness  and  self-possession  striving  to  hold  their  own. 

"That  which  will  ruin  thee  in  the  end."  Her  eyes 
looked  beyond  his  into  the  distance,  rapt  and  shining; 
she  seemed  scarcely  aware  of  his  presence.  "That 
which  will  bring  thee  down — thy  hungry  spirit  of  dis- 
covery. It  will  serve  thee  no  better  than  it  served  the 
late  Earl.  But  thee  it  will  lead  into  paths  ending  in  a 
gulf  of  darkness." 

"  Deborah!"  he  answered,  with  a  rasping  laugh.  "Cou- 
tinuez!     Forewarned  is  forearmed." 

"Oh,  do  not  think  I  shall  be  glad,"  she  answered,  still 
like  one  in  a  dream.  "  I  shall  lament  it  as  I  lament — as 
I  lament  now.  All  else  Eadea  away  into  the  end  which 
I  see  for  thee.  Thee  will  live  alone  without  a  near  and 
true  friend,  and  thee  will  die  alone,  never  having  had  a 

195 


THE    WEAVERS 

true  friend.  Thee  will  never  be  a  true  friend,  thee  will 
never  love  truly  man  or  woman,  and  thee  will  never  find 
man  or  woman  who  will  love  thee  truly,  or  will  be  with 
thee  to  aid  thee  in  the  dark  and  falling  days." 

"Then,"  he  broke  in  sharply,  querulously,  "then,  I 
will  stand  alone.  I  shall  never  come  whining  that  I 
have  been  ill  used,  to  fate  or  fortune,  to  men  or  to  the 
Almighty." 

' '  That  I  believe.  Pride  will  build  up  in  thee  a  strength 
which  will  be  like  water  in  the  end.  Oh,  my  lord,"  she 
added,  with  a  sudden  change  in  her  voice  and  manner, 
"  if  thee  could  only  be  true — thee  who  never  has  been 
true  to  any  one!" 

"Why  does  a  woman  always  judge  a  man  after  her 
own  personal  experience  with  him,  or  what  she  thinks 
is  her  own  personal  experience?" 

A  robin  hopped  upon  the  path  before  her.  She 
watched  it  for  a  moment  intently,  then  lifted  her  head 
as  the  sound  of  a  bell  came  through  the  wood  to  her. 
She  looked  up  at  the  sun,  which  was  slanting  towards 
evening.  She  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  with  second 
thought,  moved  on  slowly  past  the  mill  and  towards  the 
Meeting-house.  He  stepped  on  beside  her.  She  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  in  front  of  her,  as  though  oblivious  of  his 
presence. 

"You  shall  hear  me  speak.  You  shall  listen  to  what 
I  have  to  say,  though  it  is  for  the  last  time,"  he  urged 
stubbornly.  "You  think  ill  of  me.  Are  you  sure  you 
are  not  pharisaical  ?" 

"I  am  honest  enough  to  say  that  which  hurts  me  in 
the  saying.  I  do  not  forget  that  to  believe  thee  what  I 
think  is  to  take  all  truth  from  what  thee  said  to  me  last 
year,  and  again  this  spring  when  the  tulips  first  came 
and  there  was  good  news  from  Egypt." 

'I   said,"   he  rejoined  boldly,  "that    I   was  happier 
with  you  than  with  any  one  else  alive.     I  said  that  what 

196 


THE    WEAVERS 

you  thought  of  me  meant  more  to  me  than  what  any  one 
else  in  the  world  thought ;  and  that  I  say  now,  and  will 
always  say  it." 

The  old  look  of  pity  came  into  her  face.  "I  am  older 
than  thee  by  two  years,"  she  answered  quaintly,  "and 
I  know  more  of  real  life,  though  I  have  lived  always  here. 
I  have  made  the  most  of  the  little  I  have  seen ;  thee  has 
made  little  of  the  much  that  thee  has  seen.  Thee  does 
not  know  the  truth  concerning  thee.  Is  it  not,  in  truth, 
vanity  which  would  have  me  believe  in  thee?  If  thee 
was  happier  with  me  than  with  any  one  alive,  why  then 
did  thee  make  choice  of  a  wife  even  in  the  days  thee  was 
speaking  to  me  as  no  man  shall  ever  speak  again  ?  Noth- 
ing can  explain  so  base  a  fact.  No,  no,  no,  thee  said  to 
me  what  thee  said  to  others,  and  will  say  again  without 
shame.  But  —  but  see,  I  will  forgive;  yes,  I  will  fol- 
low thee  with  good  wishes,  if  thee  will  promise  to  help 
David,  whom  thee  has  ever  disliked,  as,  in  the  place 
held  by  thee,  thee  can  do  now.  Will  thee  offer  this 
one  proof,  in  spite  of  all  else  that  disproves,  that  thee 
spoke  any  words  of  truth  to  me  in  the  Cloistered  House, 
in  the  garden  by  my  father's  house,  by  yonder  mill,  and 
hard  by  the  Meeting-house  yonder — near  to  my  sister's 
grave  by  the  willow-tree?     Will  thee  do  that  for  me?" 

He  was  about  to  reply,  when  there  appeared  in  the 
path  before  them  Luke  Claridge.  His  back  was  upon 
them,  but  he  heard  their  footsteps  and  swung  round.  As 
though  turned  to  stone,  he  waited  for  them.  As  they 
approached,  his  lips,  dry  and  pale,  essayed  to  speak,  but 
no  sound  came.  A  fire  was  in  his  eyes  which  boded  no 
good.  Amazement,  horror,  deadly  anger,  were  all  there; 
but,  after  a  moment,  the  will  behind  the  tumult  com- 
manded it,  tin-  wild  light  died  away,  and  he  stood  calm 
and  still  awaiting  them.  Faith  was  as  pale  as  when  she 
had  met  Eglington.  As  she  came  nearer,  Luke  Claridge 
said,  in  a  low  voice: 

197 


THE    WEAVERS 

"How  do  I  find  thee  in  this  company,  Faith?" 

There  was  reproach  unutterable  in  his  voice,  in  his 
face.  He  seemed  humiliated  and  shamed,  though  all 
the  while  a  violent  spirit  in  him  was  struggling  for  the 
mastery. 

"As  I  came  this  way  to  visit  my  sister's  grave,  I  met 
my  lord  by  the  mill.  He  spoke  to  me,  and,  as  I  wished 
a  favor  of  him,  I  walked  with  him  thither— but  a  little 
way.     I  was  going  to  visit  my  sister's  grave." 

"Thy  sister's  grave!"  The  fire  flamed  up  again,  but 
the  masterful  will  chilled  it  down,  and  he  answered, 
"What  secret  business  can  thee  have  with  any  of  that 
name  which  I  have  cast  out  of  knowledge  or  notice?" 

Ignorant  as  he  was  of  the  old  man's  cause  for  quarrel 
or  dislike,  Eglington  felt  himself  aggrieved,  and,  there- 
fore, with  an  advantage. 

"You  had  differences  with  my  father,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  I  do  not  know  what  they  were,  but  they  lasted  his  life- 
time, and  all  my  life  you  have  treated  me  with  aversion. 
I  am  not  a  pestilence.  I  have  never  wronged  you.  I 
have  lived  your  peaceful  neighbor  under  great  provoca- 
tion, for  your  treatment  would  have  done  me  harm  if 
my  place  were  less  secure.  I  think  I  have  cause  for 
complaint." 

"I  have  never  acted  in  haste  concerning  thee,  or  those 
who  went  before  thee.  What  business  had  thee  with 
him,  Faith?"  he  asked  again.  His  voice  was  dry  and 
hard. 

Her  impulse  was  to  tell  the  truth,  and  so  forever  have 
her  conscience  clear,  for  there  would  never  be  any  more 
need  for  secrecy.  The  wheel  of  understanding  between 
Eglington  and  herself  had  come  full  circle,  and  there 
was  an  end.  But  to  tell  the  truth  would  be  to  wound 
her  father,  to  vex  him  against  Eglington  even  as  he  had 
never  yet  been  vexed.  Besides,  it  was  hard,  while 
Eglington  was  there,  to  tell  what,  after  all,  was  the  sole 

198 


THE    WEAVERS 

affair  of  her  own  life.  In  one  literal  sense,  Eglington 
was  not  guilty  of  deceit.  Never  in  so  many  words  had 
he  said  to  her,  "I  love  you";  never  had  he  made  any 
promise  to  her  or  exacted  one;  he  had  done  no  more 
than  lure  her  to  feel  one  thing,  and  then  to  call  it  another 
thing.  Also  there  was  no  direct  and  vital  injury,  for  she 
had  never  loved  him;  though  how  far  she  had  travelled 
towards  that  land  of  light  and  trial  she  could  never  now 
declare.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  her  mind  as 
she  stood  looking  at  her  father.  Her  tongue  seemed 
imprisoned,  yet  her  soft  and  candid  eyes  conquered  the 
austerity  in  the  old  man's  gaze. 

Eglington  spoke  for  her. 

"Permit  me  to  answer,  neighbor,"  he  said.  "I  wished 
to  speak  with  your  daughter,  because  I  am  to  be  married 
soon,  and  my  wife  will,  at  intervals,  come  here  to  live. 
I  wished  that  she  should  not  be  shunned  by  you  and 
yours  as  I  have  been.  She  would  not  understand,  as  I 
do  not.  Yours  is  a  constant  call  to  war,  while  all  your 
religion  is  an  appeal  for  peace.  I  wished  to  ask  your 
daughter  to  influence  you  to  make  it  possible  for  me  and 
mine  to  live  in  friendship  among  you.  My  wife  will  have 
some  claims  upon  you.  Her  mother  was  an  American, 
of  a  Quaker  family  from  Derbyshire.  She  has  done 
nothing  to  merit  your  aversion." 

Faith  listened,  astonished  and  baffled.  Nothing  of 
this  had  he  said  to  her.  Had  he  meant  to  say  it  to  her  ? 
Had  it  been  in  his  mind  ?  Or  was  it  only  a  swift  adapt  a- 
tion  to  circumstances,  an  adroit  means  of  working  upon 
the  sympathies  of  her  father,  who,  she  could  see,  was  in 
a  quandary.  Eglington  had  indeed  touched  the  old  man 
as  he  had  not  been  touched  in  thirty  years  and  more  by 
one  of  his  name.  For  a  moment  the  insinuating  quality 
of  the  appeal  submerged  the  fixed  idea  in  a  mind  to 
which  the  name  of  Eglington  was  anathema. 

Eglington  saw  his  advantage.  He  had  felt  his  way 
14  [99 


THE    WEAVERS 

carefully,  and  he  pursued  it  quickly.  "For  the  rest, 
your  daughter  asked  what  I  was  ready  to  offer — such 
help  as  in  my  new  official  position  I  can  give  to  Claridge 
Pasha  in  Egypt.  As  a  neighbor,  as  Minister  in  the  Gov- 
ernment, I  will  do  what  I  can  to  aid  him." 

Silent  and  embarrassed,  the  old  man  tried  to  find  his 
way.  Presently  he  said  tentatively,  "David  Claridge 
has  a  title  to  the  esteem  of  all  civilized  people." 

Eglington  was  quick  with  his  reply.  "If  he  succeeds, 
his  title  will  become  a  concrete  fact.  There  is  no  honor 
the  Crown  would  not  confer  for  such  remarkable  service." 

The  other's  face  darkened.  "I  did  not  speak,  I  did  not 
think  of  handles  to  his  name.  I  find  no  good  in  them, 
but  only  means  for  deceiving  and  deluding  the  world. 
Such  honors  as  might  make  him  baronet,  or  duke,  would 
add  not  a  cubit  to  his  stature.  If  he  had  such  a  thing  by 
right" — his  voice  hardened,  his  eyes  grew  angry  once 
again — "I  would  wish  it  sunk  into  the  sea." 

"You  are  hard  on  us,  sir,  who  did  not  give  ourselves 
our  titles,  but  took  them  with  our  birth  as  a  matter  of 
course.  There  was  nothing  inspiring  in  them.  We  be- 
came at  once  distinguished  and  respectable  by  patent." 

He  laughed  good  -  humoredly.  Then  suddenly  he 
'changed,  and  his  eyes  took  on  a  far-off  look  which  Faith 
had  seen  so  often  in  the  eyes  of  David,  but  in  David's 
more  intense  and  meaning,  and  so  different.  With  what 
deftness  and  diplomacy  had  he  worked  upon  her  father! 
He  had  crossed  a  stream  which  seemed  impassable  by 
adroit,  insincere  diplomacy. 

She  saw  that  it  was  time  to  go,  while  yet  Eglington 's 
disparagement  of  rank  and  aristocracy  was  ringing  in  the 
old  man's  ears;  though  she  knew  there  was  nothing  in 
Eglington's  equipment  he  valued  more  than  his  title  and 
the  place  it  gave  him.  Grateful,  however,  for  his  success- 
ful intervention,  Faith  now  held  out  her  hand. 

I  must  take  my  father  away,  or  it  will  be  sunset 

200 


<< 


THE    WEAVERS 

before  we  reach  the  Meeting-house,"  she  said.     "Good- 
bye—friend," she  added  gently. 

For  an  instant  Luke  Claridge  stared  at  her,  scarce 
comprehending  that  his  movements  were  being  directed 
by  any  one  save  himself.  Truth  was,  Faith  had  come 
to  her  cross-roads  in  life.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
memory  she  had  seen  her  father  speak  to  an  Eglington 
without  harshness;  and,  as  he  weakened  for  a  moment, 
she  moved  to  take  command  of  that  weakness,  though  she 
meant  it  to  seem  like  leading.  While  loving  her  and 
David  profoundly,  her  father  had  ever  been  quietly  im- 
perious. If  she  could  but  gain  ascendency  even  in  a  little, 
it  might  lead  to  a  more  open  book  of  life  for  them  both. 

Eglington  held  out  his  hand  to  the  old  man.  "I  have 
kept  you  too  long,  sir.     Good-bye — if  you  will." 

The  offered  hand  was  not  taken,  but  Faith  slid  hers 
into  the  old  man's  palm,  and  pressed  it,  and  he  said 
quietly  to  Eglington: 

"Good-evening,  friend." 

"And  when  I  bring  my  wife,  sir?"  Eglington  added, 
with  a  smile. 

"When  thee  brings  the  lady,  there  will  be  occasion  to 
consider — there  will  be  occasion  then." 

Eglington  raised  his  hat,  and  turned  back  upon  the 
path  he  and  Faith  had  travelled. 

The  old  man  stood  watching  him  until  he  was  out 
of  view.  Then  he  seemed  more  himself.  Still  holding 
Faith's  hand,  he  walked  with  her  on  the  gorse-covered 
hill  towards  the  graveyard. 

"  \V;:s  it  his  heart  spoke  or  his  tongue — is  there  any 
truth  in  him?"  he  asked  at  last. 

Faith  pressed  his  hand.     "If  he  help  Davy,  father — " 

"If  he  help  Davy;  ay,  if  he  help  Davy!  .  .  .  Nay,  I 
cannot  go  to  the  graveyard,  Faith.  Take  me  home,"  he 
said  with  emotion. 

His  hand  remained  in  hers.     She  had  conquered.    She 

201 


THE    WEAVERS 

was  set  upon  a  new  path  of  influence.  Her  hand  was 
upon  the  door  of  his  heart. 

"Thee  is  good  to  me,  Faith,"  he  said,  as  they  en- 
tered the  door  of  the  Red  Mansion. 

She  glanced  over  towards  the  Cloistered  House.  Smoke 
was  coming  from  the  little  chimney  of  the  laboratory. 


XVII 

THE    WOMAN    OF    THE    CROSS-ROADS 

The  night  came  down  slowly.  There  was  no  moon, 
the  stars  were  few,  but  a  mellow  warmth  was  in  the  air. 
At  the  window  of  her  little  sitting-room  up-stairs  Faith 
sat  looking  out  into  the  stillness.  Beneath  was  the  gar- 
den, with  its  profusion  of  flowers  and  fruit;  away  to  the 
left  was  the  common;  and  beyond  —  far  beyond  —  was 
a  glow  in  the  sky,  a  suffused  light,  of  a  delicate  orange, 
merging  away  into  a  gray-blueness,  deepening  into  a 
darker  blue;  and  then  a  purple  depth,  palpable  and 
heavy  with  a  comforting  silence. 

There  was  something  alluring  and  suggestive  in  the 
soft,  smothered  radiance.  It  had  all  the  glamour  of 
some  distant  place  of  pleasure  and  quiet  joy,  of  happiness, 
and  ethereal  being.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  far-off  mirror  of 
the  flaming  furnace  of  the  great  Heddington  factories. 
The  light  of  the  sky  above  was  a  soft  radiance,  as  of  a 
happy  Arcadian  land;  the  fire  of  the  toil  beneath  was  the 
output  of  human  striving,  an  intricate  interweaving  of 
vital  forces  which,  like  some  Titanic  machine,  wrought 
out  in  pain  a  vast  destiny. 

As  Faith  looked,  she  thought  of  the  thousands  beneath 
struggling  and  striving,  none  with  all  desires  satisfied, 
some  in  an  agony  of  want  and  penury,  all  straining  for 
the  elusive  Knough;  like  Sisyphus  ever  rolling  the  rock 
of  labor  up  a  hill  too  steep  for  them. 

Her  mind  flew  to  the  man  Kimber  and  his  task  of 

203 


THE    WEAVERS 

organizing  labor  for  its  own  advance.  What  a  life-work 
for  a  man!  Here  might  David  have  spent  his  days, 
here  among  his  own  countrymen,  instead  of  in  that  far- 
off  land  where  all  the  forces  of  centuries  were  fighting 
against  him.  Here  the  forces  would  have  been  fighting 
for  him;  the  trend  was  towards  the  elevation  of  the 
standards  of  living  and  the  wider  rights  of  labor,  to  the 
amelioration  of  hard  conditions  of  life  among  the  poor. 
David's  mind,  with  its  equity,  its  balance,  and  its  fire — 
what  might  it  not  have  accomplished  in  shepherding  such 
a  cause,  guiding  its  activity  ? 

The  gate  of  the  garden  clicked.  Kate  Heaver  had 
arrived.     Faith  got  to  her  feet  and  left  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  woman  of  the  cross-roads  was 
seated  opposite  Faith  at  the  window.  She  had  changed 
greatly  since  the  day  David  had  sent  her  on  her  way  to 
London  and  into  the  unknown.  Then  there  had  been 
recklessness,  something  of  coarseness  in  the  fine  face. 
Now  it  was  strong  and  quiet,  marked  by  purpose  and 
self-reliance.  Ignorance  had  been  her  only  peril  in  the 
past,  as  it  had  been  the  cause  of  her  unhappy  connection 
with  Jasper  Kimber.  The  atmosphere  in  which  she 
was  raised  had  been  unmoral;  it  had  not  been  con- 
sciously immoral.  Her  temper  and  her  indignation 
against  her  man  for  drinking  had  been  the  means  of 
driving  them  apart.  He  would  have  married  her  in  those 
days,  if  she  had  given  the  word,  for  her  will  was  stronger 
than  his  own;  but  she  had  broken  from  him  in  an  agony 
of  rage  and  regret  and  despised  love. 

She  was  now,  again,  as  she  had  been  in  those  first  days 
before  she  went  with  Jasper  Kimber;  when  she  was  the 
rose-red  angel  of  the  quarters ;  when  children  were  lured 
by  the  touch  of  her  large,  shapely  hands;  when  she  had 
been  counted  a  great  nurse  among  her  neighbors.  The 
old  simple  untutored  sympathy  was  in  her  face. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

They  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence,  and  at  length  Faith 
said,  "Thee  is  happy  now — with  her  who  is  to  marry 
Lord  Eglington?" 

Kate  nodded,  smiling.  "Who  could  help  but  be  hap- 
py with  her!  Yet  a  temper,  too — so  quick,  and  then  all 
over  in  a  second.  Ah,  she  is  one  that  'd  break  her  heart 
if  she  was  treated  bad;  but  I'd  be  sorry  for  him  that 
did  it.  For  the  like  of  her  goes  mad  with  hurting,  and 
the  mad  cut  with  a  big  scythe." 

"Has  thee  seen  Lord  Eglington ?" 

"Once  before  I  left  these  parts  and  often  in  London." 
Her  voice  was  constrained;  she  seemed  not  to  wish  to 
speak  of  him. 

"Is  it  true  that  Jasper  Kimber  is  to  stand  against 
him  for  Parliament?" 

"I  do  not  know.  They  say  my  lord  has  to  do  with 
foreign  lands  now.  If  he  helps  Mr.  Claridge  there,  then 
it  would  be  a  foolish  thing  for  Jasper  to  fight  him;  and  so 
I've  told  him.  You've  got  to  stand  by  those  that  stand 
by  you.  Lord  Eglington  has  his  own  way  of  doing  things. 
There's  not  a  servant  in  my  lady's  house  that  he  hasn't 
made  his  friend.  He's  one  that's  bound  to  have  his  will. 
I  heard  my  lady  say  he  talks  better  than  any  one  in 
England,  and  there's  none  she  doesn't  know,  from  duch- 
esses down." 

"She  is  beautiful?"  asked  Faith,  with  hesitation. 

"Taller  than  you,  but  not  so  beautiful." 

Faith  sighed,  and  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she 
laid  a  hand  upon  the  other's  shoulder.  "Thee  has  never 
said  what  happened  when  thee  first  got  to  London. 
Does  thee  care  to  say?" 

"It  seems  so  long  ago,"  was  the  reply.  .  .  .  "No  need 
to  tell  of  the  journey  to  London.  When  I  got  there  it 
frightened  me  at  first.  My  head  went  round.  But 
somehow  it  came  to  me  what  I  should  do.  I  asked  my 
way  to  a  hospital.     I'd  helped  a  many  that  was  hurt  at 

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THE    WEAVERS 

Heddington  and  thereabouts,  and  doctors  said  I  was  as 
good  as  them  that  was  trained.  I  found  a  hospital  at 
last,  and  asked  for  work,  but  they  laughed  at  me — it  was 
the  porter  at  the  door.  I  was  not  to  be  put  down,  and 
asked  to  see  some  one  that  had  rights  to  say  yes  or  no. 
So  he  opened  the  door  and  told  me  to  go.  I  said  he  was 
no  man  to  treat  a  woman  so,  and  I  would  not  go.  Then 
a  fine  white-haired  gentleman  came  forward.  He  had 
heard  all  we  had  said,  standing  in  a  little  room  at  one 
side.  He  spoke  a  kind  word  or  two,  and  asked  me  to 
go  into  the  little  room.  Before  I  had  time  to  think,  he 
came  to  me  with  the  matron,  and  left  me  with  her.  I 
told  her  the  whole  truth,  and  she  looked  at  first  as  if 
she'd  turn  me  out.  But  the  end  of  it  was  I  stayed  there 
for  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  the  old  gentleman 
came  again,  and  with  him  his  lady,  as  kind  and  sharp 
of  tongue  as  himself,  and  as  big  as  three.  Some  things 
she  said  made  my  tongue  ache  to  speak  back  to  her; 
but  I  choked  it  down.  I  went  to  her  to  be  a  sort  of 
nurse  and  maid.  She  taught  me  how  to  do  a  hundred 
things,  and  by-and-by  I  couldn't  be  too  thankful  she 
had  taken  me  in.  I  was  with  her  till  she  died.  Then, 
six  months  ago  I  went  to  Miss  Maryon,  who  knew  about 
me  long  before  from  her  that  died.  With  her  I've  been 
ever  since — and  so  that's  all!" 

"Surely  God  has  been  kind  to  thee." 

"I'd  have  gone  down — down — down,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Mr.  Claridge  at  the  cross-roads." 

"Does  thee  think  I  shall  like  her  that  will  live  yon- 
der?"    She  nodded  towards  the  Cloistered  House. 

"There's  none  but  likes  her.  She  will  want  a  friend, 
I'm  thinking.  She'll  be  lonely  by-and-by.  Surely,  she 
will  be  lonely." 

Faith  looked  at  her  closely,  and  at  last  leaned  over, 
and  again  laid  a  soft  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "Thee 
thinks  that — why?" 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"He  cares  only  what  matters  to  himself.  She  will 
be  naught  to  him  but  one  that  belongs.  He'll  never 
try  to  do  her  good.  Doing  good  to  any  but  himself  never 
comes  to  his  mind." 

"How  does  thee  know  him,  to  speak  so  surely?" 

"When,  at  the  first,  he  gave  me  a  letter  for  her  one 
day,  and  slipped  a  sovereign  into  my  hand,  and  nodded, 
and  smiled  at  me,  I  knew  him  right  enough.  He  never 
could  be  true  to  aught." 

"Did  thee  keep  the  sovereign?"  Faith  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"Ay,  that  I  did.  If  he  was  for  giving  his  money 
away,  I'd  take  it  fast  enough.  The  gold  gave  father 
boots  for  a  year.     Why  should  I  mind?" 

Faith's  face  suffused.  How  low  was  Eglington's  esti- 
mate of  humanity! 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  door  of  her  room 
opened,  and  her  father  entered.  He  held  in  one  hand  a 
paper,  in  the  other  a  candle.  His  face  was  passive,  but 
his  eyes  were  burning. 

"David — -David  is  coming,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
rang.     "Does  thee  hear,  Faith?    Davy  is  coming  home!" 

A  woman  laughed  exultantly.     It  was  not  Faith. 

But  still  two  years  passed  before  David  came. 


XVIII 

TIME,   THE    IDOL-BREAKER 

Lord  Windlehurst  looked  meditatively  round  the 
crowded  and  brilliant  salon.  His  host,  the  Foreign 
Minister,  had  gathered  in  the  vast  golden  chamber  the 
most  notable  people  of  a  most  notable  season,  and  in  as 
critical  a  period  of  the  world's  politics  as  had  been  known 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  After  a  moment's  survey, 
the  ex-Prime-Minister  turned  to  answer  the  frank  and 
caustic  words  addressed  to  him  by  the  Duchess  of  Snow- 
don  concerning  the  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs. 
Presently  he  said: 

"But  there  is  method  in  his  haste,  dear  lady.  He  is 
good  at  his  dangerous  gam  He  plays  high,  he  plunges; 
but,  somehow,  he  makes  it  do.  I've  been  in  Parlia- 
ment a  generation  or  so,  and  I've  never  known  an  ama- 
teur more  daring  and  skilful.  I  should  have  given  him 
office  had  I  remained  in  power.  Look  at  him,  and  tell 
me  if  he  wouldn't  have  been  worth  the  backing." 

As  Lord  Windlehurst  uttered  the  last  word  with  an 
arid  smile,  he  looked  quizzically  at  the  central  figure  of 
a  group  of  people  gayly  talking. 

The  Duchess  impatiently  tapped  her  knee  with  a  fan. 
"Be  thankful  you  haven't  got  him  on  your  conscience," 
she  rejoined.  "I  call  Eglington  unscrupulous  and  un- 
reliable. He  has  but  one  god  —  getting  on;  and  he 
has  got  on,  with  a  vengeance.  Whenever  I  look  at 
that  dear  thing  he's  married,  I  feel  there's  no  trusting 

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THE    WEAVERS 

Providence,  who  seems  to  make  the  deserving  a  foot- 
stool for  the  undeserving.  I've  known  Hylda  since  she 
was  ten,  and  I've  known  him  since  the  minute  he  came 
into  the  world,  and  I've  got  the  measure  of  both.  She 
is  the  finest  essence  the  middle  class  can  distil,  and 
he,  oh,  he's  paraffin — vin  ordinaire,  if  you  like  it  better, 
a  selfish,  calculating  adventurer!" 

Lord  Windlehurst  chuckled  mordantly.  "Adventu- 
rer! That's  what  they  called  me— with  more  reason.  I 
spotted  him  as  soon  as  he  spoke  in  the  House.  There 
was  devilry  in  him,  and  unscrupulousness,  as  you  say; 
but,  I  confess,  I  thought  it  would  give  way  to  the  more 
profitable  habit  of  integrity,  and  that  some  cause  would 
seize  him,  make  him  sincere  and  mistaken,  and  give  him 
a  few  falls.  But  in  that  he  was  more  original  than  I 
thought.  He  is  superior  to  convictions.  You  don't  think 
he  married  yonder  Queen  of  Hearts  from  conviction,  do 
you?" 

He  nodded  towards  a  corner  where  Hylda,  under  a 
great  palm,  and  backed  by  a  bank  of  flowers,  stood  sur- 
rounded by  a  group  of  people  palpably  amused  and  in- 
terested; for  she  had  a  reputation  for  wit — a  wit  that 
never  hurt,  and  irony  that  was  only  whimsical. 

"Oh,  there  you  are  wrong,"  the  Duchess  answered. 
"He  married  from  conviction,  if  ever  a  man  did.  Look 
at  her  beauty,  look  at  her  fortune,  listen  to  her  tongue! 
Don't  you  think  conviction  was  easy?" 

Lord  Windlehurst  looked  at  Hylda  approvingly.  "She 
has  the  real  gift — little  information,  but  much  knowl- 
edge, the  primary  gift  of  public  life.  Information  is  full 
of  traps;  knowledge  avoids  them;  it  reads  men;  and 
politics  is  men — and  foreign  affairs  perhaps!  She  is 
remarkable.  I've  made  some  hay  in  the  political  world, 
not  so  much  as  the  babblers  think,  but  I  hadn't  her 
ability  at  twenty-five." 

"Why  didn't  she  see  through  Eglington?" 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"My  dear  Betty,  he  didn't  give  her  time.  He  carried 
her  off  her  feet.     You  know  how  he  can  talk." 

'That's  the  trouble.  She  was  clever,  and  liked  a 
clever  man — and  he — !" 

"Quite  so.  He'd  disprove  his  own  honest  parentage, 
if  it  would  help  him  on — as  you  say." 

"I  didn't  say  it.  Now  don't  repeat  that  as  from  me. 
I'm  not  clever  enough  to  think  of  such  things.  But  that 
Eglington  lot — I  knew  his  father  and  his  grandfather! 
Old  Broadbrim  they  called  his  grandfather  after  he 
turned  Quaker,  and  he  didn't  do  that  till  he  had  had  his 
fling,  so  my  father  used  to  say.  And  Old  Broadbrim's 
father  was  called  I  -  want  -  to  -  know.  He  was  always 
poking  his  nose  into  things,  and  playing  at  being  a 
chemist — like  this  one  and  the  one  before.  They  all  fly 
off.  This  one's  father  used  to  disappear  for  two  or  three 
years  at  a  time.     This  one  will  fly  off,  too!     You'll  see!" 

"He  is  too  keen  on  Number  One  for  that,  I  fancy.  He 
calculates  like  a  mathematician.  As  cool  as  a  cracks- 
man of  fame  and  fancy." 

The  Duchess  dropped  the  fan  in  her  lap.  "My  dear, 
I've  said  nothing  as  bad  as  that  about  him.  And  there 
he  is  at  the  Foreign  Office!" 

"Yet,  what  has  he  done,  Betty,  after  all?  He  has 
never  cheated  at  cards,  or  forged  a  check,  or  run  away 
with  his  neighbor's  wife." 

'There's  no  credit  in  not  doing  what  you  don't  want 
to  do.  There's  no  virtue  in  not  falling,  when  you're  not 
tempted.  Neighbor's  wife!  He  hasn't  enough  feeling 
to  face  it.  Oh  no,  he'll  not  break  the  heart  of  his  neigh- 
bor's wife.  That's  melodrama,  and  he's  a  cold-blooded 
artist.  He  will  torture  that  sweet  child  over  there  until 
she  poisons  him,  or  runs  away." 

"Isn't  he  too  clever  for  that?     She  has  a  million!" 

"He'll  not  realize  it  till  it's  all  over.  He's  too  selfish 
to  see — how  I  hate  him!" 

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THE    WEAVERS 

Lord  Windlehurst  smiled  indulgently  at  her.  "Ah, 
you  never  hated  any  one — not  even  the  Duke." 

"I  will  not  have  you  take  away  my  character.  Of 
course  I've  hated,  or  I  wouldn't  be  worth  a  button.  I'm 
not  the  silly  thing  you've  always  thought  me." 

His  face  became  gentler.  "I've  always  thought  you 
one  of  the  wisest  women  of  this  world — adventurous,  but 
wise.  If  it  weren't  too  late,  if  my  day  weren't  over,  I'd 
ask  the  one  great  favor,  Betty,  and — " 

She  tapped  his  arm  sharply  with  her  fan.  "What  a 
humbug  you  are — the  Great  Pretender!  But  tell  me, 
am  I  not  right  about  Eglington?" 

Windlehurst  became  grave.  "Yes,  you  are  right- 
but  I  admire  him,  too.  He  is  determined  to  test  him- 
self to  the  full.  His  ambition  is  boundless  and  ruthless, 
but  his  mind  has  a  scientific  turn — the  obligation  of 
energy  to  apply  itself,  of  intelligence  to  engage  itself  to 
the  farthest  limit.     But  service  to  humanity — " 

"Service  to  humanity!"  she  sniffed. 

"Of  course  he  would  think  it  'flap-doodle' — except  in 
a  speech;  but  I  repeat,  I  admire  him.  Think  of  it  all. 
He  was  a  poor  Irish  peer,  with  no  wide  circle  of  ac- 
quaintance, come  of  a  family  none  too  popular.  He 
strikes  out  a  course  for  himself — a  course  which  had  its 
dangers,  because  it  was  original.  He  determines  to  be- 
come celebrated — by  becoming  notorious  first.  He  uses 
his  title  as  a  weapon  for  advancement  as  though  he 
were  a  butter-merchant.  He  plans  carefully  and  adroit- 
ly. He  writes  a  book  of  travel.  It  is  impudent,  and  it 
traverses  the  observations  of  authorities,  and  the  scien- 
tific geographers  prance  with  rage.  That  was  what  he 
wished.  He  writes  a  novel.  It  sets  London  laughing  at 
me,  his  political  chief.  He  knew  me  well  enough  to  be 
sure  I  would  not  resent  it.  He  would  have  lampoonecl 
his  grandmother,  if  he  was  sure  she  would  not,  or  could 
not,  hurt  him.     Then  he  becomes  more  audacious.     He 

211 


THE    WEAVERS 

publishes  a  monograph  on  the  painters  of  Spain,  arti- 
ficial, confident,  rhetorical,  acute — as  fascinating  as  a 
hide-and-seek  drawing-room  play  —  he  is  so  cleverly 
escaping  from  his  ignorance  and  indiscretions  all  the 
while.  Connoisseurs  laugh,  students  of  art  shriek  a  little, 
and  Ruskin  writes  a  scathing  letter,  which  was  what  he 
had  played  for.  He  had  got  something  for  nothing 
cheaply.  The  few  who  knew  and  despised  him  did  not 
matter,  for  they  were  able  and  learned  and  obscure,  and, 
in  the  world  where  he  moves,  most  people  are  superficial, 
mediocre,  and  'tuppence-colored.'  It  was  all  very 
brilliant.     He  pursued  his  notoriety,  and  got  it." 

"Industrious  Eglington!" 

"But,  yes,  he  is  industrious.  It  is  all  business.  It 
was  an  enormous  risk,  rebelling  against  his  party,  and 
leaving  me,  and  going  over;  but  his  temerity  justified  it- 
self, and  it  didn't  matter  to  him  that  people  said  he  went 
over  to  get  office  as  we  were  going  out.  He  got  the  office 
— and  people  forget  so  soon!     Then,  what  does  he  do—" 

"He  brings  out  another  book,  and  marries  a  wife,  and 
abuses  his  old  friends — and  you." 

"Abuse?  With  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  hoping  that 
I  should  reply.  Dev'lishly  ingenious  I  But  on  that  book 
of  '  Electricity  and  Disease,'  he  scored.  In  most  other 
things  he's  a  barber-shop  philosopher,  but  in  science  he 
has  got  a  flare,  a  real  talent.  So  he  moves  modestly  in 
this  thing,  for  which  he  had  a  fine  natural  gift  and  more 
knowledge  than  he  ever  had  before  in  any  department, 
whose  boundaries  his  impertinent  and  ignorant  mind  had 
invaded.  That  book  gave  him  a  place.  It  wasn't  full 
of  new  things,  but  it  crystallized  the  discoveries,  sugges- 
tions, and  expectations  of  others;  and,  meanwhile,  he 
had  got  a  name  at  no  cost.  He  is  so  various.  Look  at 
it  dispassionately,  and  you  will  see  much  to  admire  in 
his  skill.  He  pleases,  he  amuses,  he  startles,  he  baffles, 
he  mystifies." 

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THE    WEAVERS 

The  Duchess  made  an  impatient  exclamation.  "The 
silly  newspapers  call  him  'a  remarkable  man,  a  per- 
sonality.' Now,  believe  me,  Windlehurst,  he  will  over- 
reach himself  one  of  these  days,  and  he'll  come  down 
like  a  stick." 

"There  you  are  on  solid  ground.  He  thinks  that 
Fate  is  with  him,  and  that,  in  taking  risks,  he  is  infallible. 
But  the  best  system  breaks  at  political  roulette  sooner 
or  later.  You  have  got  to  work  for  something  outside 
yourself,  something  that  is  bigger  than  the  game,  or  the 
end  is  sickening." 

"Eglington  hasn't  far  to  go,  if  that's  the  truth." 

"Well,  well,  when  it  comes,  we  must  help  him— we 
must  help  him  up  again." 

The  Duchess  nervously  adjusted  her  wig,  with  ludi- 
crously tiny  fingers  for  one  so  ample,  and  said  petulantly: 
"You  are  incomprehensible.  He  has  been  a  traitor  to 
you  and  to  your  party,  he  has  thrown  mud  at  you,  he  has 
played  with  principles  as  my  terrier  plays  with  his  rubber 
ball,  and  yet  you'll  run  and  pick  him  up  when  he  falls, 
and—" 

'"And  kiss  the  spot  to  make  it  well,"  he  laughed 
softly,  then  added  with  a  sigh:  "Able  men  in  public 
life  are  few;  'far  too  few,  for  half  our  tasks;  we  can  spare 
not  one.'  Besides,  my  dear  Betty,  there  is  his  pretty 
lass  o'  London." 

The  Duchess  was  mollified  at  once.  ;'I  wish  she  had 
been  my  girl,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  a  little  tremulous. 
' '  She  never  needed  looking  after.  Look  at  the  position 
she  has  made  for  herself.  Her  father  wouldn't  go  into 
society,  her  mother  knew  a  mere  handful  of  people, 
and—" 

"She  knew  you,  Betty." 

"Well,  suppose  I  did  help  her  a  little —  I  was  only 
a  kind  of  reference.  She  did  the  rest.  She's  set  a  half- 
dozen  fashions  herself — pure  genius.     She  was  born  to 

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THE    WEAVERS 

lead.  Her  turnouts  were  always  a  little  smarter,  her 
horses  travelled  a  little  faster,  than  other  people's.  She 
took  risks,  too,  but  she  didn't  play  a  game;  she  only 
wanted  to  do  things  well.  We  all  gasped  when  she 
brought  Adelaide  to  recite  from  '  Romeo  and  Juliet '  at 
an  evening  party,  but  all  London  did  the  same  the  week 
after." 

"She  discovered,  and  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon  applied 
the  science.  Ah,  Betty,  don't  think  I  don't  agree.  She 
has  the  gift.  She  has  temperament.  No  woman  should 
have  temperament.  She  hasn't  scope  enough  to  wear 
it  out  in  some  passion  for  a  cause.  Men  are  saved  in 
spite  of  themselves  by  the  law  of  work.  Forty  comes 
to  a  man  of  temperament,  and  then  a  passion  for  a  cause 
seizes  him,  and  he  is  safe.  A  woman  of  temperament  at 
forty  is  apt  to  cut  across  the  bows  of  iron-clad  conven- 
tion and  go  down.  She  has  temperament,  has  my  lady 
yonder,  and  I  don't  like  the  look  of  her  eyes  sometimes. 
There's  dark  fire  smouldering  in  them.  She  should  have 
a  cause;  but  a  cause  to  a  woman  nowadays  means  'too 
little  of  pleasure,  too  much  of  pain,'  for  others." 

"What  was  your  real  cause,  Windlehurst?  You  had 
one,  I  suppose,  for  you've  never  had  a  fall!" 

"My  cause?  You  ask  that?  Behold  the  barren 
fig-tree!  A  lifetime  in  my  country's  service,  and  you 
who  have  driven  me  home  from  the  House  in  your 
own  brougham,  and  told  me  that  you  understood— oh, 
Betty!" 

She  laughed.  "You'll  say  something  funny  as  you're 
dying,  Windlehurst." 

"Perhaps.  But  it  will  be  funny  to  know  that  pres- 
ently I'll  have  a  secret  that  none  of  you  know,  who 
watch  me  'launch  my  pinnace  into  the  dark.'  But 
causes?  There  are  hundreds,  and  all  worth  while.  I've 
come  here  to-night  for  a  cause — no,  don't  start,  it's  not 
you,  Betty,  though  you  are  worth  any  sacrifice.     I've 

214 


THE    WEAVERS 

come   here   to-night   to   see   a   modern   Paladin,    a   real 

crusader: 

"Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies, 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken." 

"Yes,  that's  poetry,  Windlehurst,  and  you  know  I 
love  it — I've  always  kept  yours.  But  who's  the  man — 
the  planet?" 

"Egyptian  Claridge." 

"Ah,  he  is  in  England?" 

"He  will  be  here  to-night;  you  shall  see  him." 

"Really!     What  is  his  origin?" 

He  told  her  briefly,  adding:  "I've  watched  the  rise  of 
Claridge  Pasha.  I've  watched  his  cause  grow,  and  now 
I  shall  see  the  man — ah,  but  here  comes  our  lass  o' 
London!" 

The  eyes  of  both  brightened,  and  a  whimsical  pleasure 
came  to  the  mask-like  face  of  Lord  Windlehurst.  There 
was  an  eager  and  delighted  look  in  Hylda's  face  also,  as 
she  quickly  came  to  them,  her  cavaliers  following. 

The  five  years  that  had  passed  since  that  tragic  night 
in  Cairo  had  been  more  than  kind  to  her.  She  was  lis- 
some, radiant,  and  dignified,  her  face  was  alive  with  ex- 
pression, and  a  delicate  grace  was  in  every  movement. 
The  dark  lashes  seemed  to  have  grown  longer,  the  brown 
hair  fuller,  the  smile  softer  and  more  alluring. 

"She  is  an  invaluable  asset  to  the  Government,"  Lord 
Windlehurst  murmured  as  she  came.  "No  wonder  the 
party  helped  the  marriage  on.  London  conspired  for  it, 
her  feet  got  tangled  in  the  web — and  he  gave  her  no  time 
to  think.     Thinking  had  saved  her  till  he  came." 

By  instinct  Lord  Windlehurst  knew.     During  the  first 

ir  after  the  catastrophe  at  Ka'id's  Palace,  Hylda  could 
rcely  endure  the  advances  made  by  her  many  admir- 
ers, the  greatly  eligible  and  the  eager  ineligible,  all  with 
as  real  an  appreciation  of  her  wealth  as  of  her  personal 

15  215 


THE    WEAVERS 

attributes.  But  she  took  her  place  in  London  life  with 
more  than  the  old  will  to  make  for  herself,  with  the  help 
of  her  aunt  Conyngham,  an  individual  position. 

The  second  year  after  her  visit  to  Egypt,  she  was  less 
haunted  by  the  dark  episode  of  the  Palace,  memory 
tortured  her  less;  she  came  to  think  of  David  and  the 
part  he  had  played  with  less  agitation.  At  first  the 
thought  of  him  had  moved  her  alternately  to  sympathy 
and  to  revolt.  His  chivalry  had  filled  her  with  admira- 
tion, with  a  sense  of  confidence,  of  dependence,  of  touch- 
ing and  vital  obligation;  but  there  was,  too,  another 
overmastering  feeling.  He  had  seen  her  life  naked,  as 
it  were,  stripped  of  all  independence,  with  the  knowledge 
of  a  dangerous  indiscretion  which,  to  say  the  least,  was 
a  deformity;  and  she  inwardly  resented  it,  as  one  would 
resent  the  exposure  of  a  long-hidden  physical  deformity, 
even  by  the  surgeon  who  saved  one's  life.  It  was  not  a 
very  lofty  attitude  of  mind,  but  it  was  human — and 
feminine. 

These  moods  had  been  always  dissipated,  however, 
when  she  recalled,  as  she  did  so  often,  David  as  he 
stood  before  Nahoum  Pasha,  his  soul  fighting  in  him  to 
make  of  his  enemy — of  the  man  whose  brother  he  had 
killed — -a  fellow-worker  in  the  path  of  altruism  he  had 
mapped  out  for  himself.  David's  name  had  been  con- 
tinually mentioned  in  telegraphic  reports  and  journalistic 
correspondence  from  Egypt;  and  from  this  source  she 
had  learned  that  Nahoum  Pasha  was  again  high  in  the 
service  of  Prince  Kaid.  When  the  news  of  David's 
southern  expedition  to  the  revolting  slave-dealing  tribes 
began  to  appear,  she  was  deeply  roused.  Her  agitation 
was  the  more  intense  because  she  never  permitted  her- 
self to  talk  of  him  to  others,  even  when  his  name  was  dis- 
cussed at  dinner-tables,  accompanied  by  strange  legends 
of  his  origin  and  stranger  romances  regarding  his  call  to 
power  by  Kaid. 

216 


THE    WEAVERS 

She  had  surrounded  him  with  romance;  he  seemed 
more  a  hero  of  history  than  of  her  own  real  and  living 
world,  a  being  apart.  Even  when  there  came  rumblings 
of  disaster,  dark  dangers  to  be  conquered  by  the  Quaker 
crusader,  it  all  was  still  as  of  another  life.  True  it  was, 
that  when  his  safe  return  to  Cairo  was  announced  she 
had  cried  with  joy  and  relief;  but  there  was  nothing 
emotional  or  passionate  in  her  feeling;  it  was  the  love 
of  the  lower  for  the  higher,  the  hero-worship  of  an  ideal- 
ist in  passionate  gratitude. 

And,  amid  it  all,  her  mind  scarcely  realized  that  they 
would  surely  meet  again.  At  the  end  of  the  second  year 
the  thought  had  receded  into  an  almost  indefinite  past. 
She  was  beginning  to  feel  that  she  had  lived  two  lives, 
and  that  this  life  had  no  direct  or  vital  bearing  upon 
her  previous  existence,  in  which  David  had  moved. 
Yet  now  and  then  the  perfume  of  the  Egyptian  garden, 
through  which  she  had  fled  to  escape  from  tragedy, 
swept  over  her  senses,  clouded  her  eyes  in  the  daytime, 
made  them  burn  at  night. 

At  last  she  had  come  to  meet  and  know  Eglington. 
From  the  first  moment  they  met  he  had  directed  his 
course  towards  marriage.  He  was  the  man  of  the  mo- 
ment. His  ambition  seemed  but  patriotism,  his  ardent 
and  overwhelming  courtship  the  impulse  of  a  powerful 
nature.  As  Lord  Windlehurst  had  said,  he  carried  her 
off  her  feet,  and,  on  a  wave  of  devotion  and  popular  en- 
couragement, he  had  swept  her  to  the  altar. 

The  Duchess  held  both  her  hands  for  a  moment,  ad- 
miring her,  and,  presently,  with  a  playful  remark  upon 
her  unselfishness,  left  her  alone  with  Lord  Windlehurst. 

As  they  talked,  his  mask-like  face  became  lighted  from 
the  brilliant  fire  in  the  inquisitorial  eyes,  his  lips  played 
with  topics  of  the  moment  in  a  mordant  fashion,  which 
drew  from  her  flashing  replies.     Looking  at  her,  he  was 

217 


THE    WEAVERS 

conscious  of  the  mingled  qualities  of  three  races  in  her — 
English,  Welsh,  and  American- Dutch  of  the  Knicker- 
bocker strain;  and  he  contrasted  her  keen  perception 
and  her  exquisite  sensitiveness  with  the  pure-bred  Eng- 
lishwomen round  him,  stately,  kindly,  handsome,  and 
monotonously  intelligent. 

"Now  I  often  wonder,"  he  said,  conscious  of,  but  in- 
different to,  the  knowledge  that  he  and  the  brilliant  per- 
son beside  him  were  objects  of  general  attention — "I 
often  wonder,  when  I  look  at  a  gathering  like  this,  how 
many  undiscovered  crimes  there  are  playing  about 
among  us.  They  never  do  tell — or,  shall  I  say,  we  never 
do  tell?" 

All  day,  she  knew  not  why,  Hylda  had  been  nervous 
and  excited.  Without  reason  his  words  startled  her. 
Now  there  flashed  before  her  eyes  a  room  in  a  palace 
at  Cairo,  and  a  man  lying  dead  before  her.  The  light 
slowly  faded  out  of  her  eyes,  leaving  them  almost  lustre- 
less, but  her  face  was  calm,  and  the  smile  on  her  lips 
stayed.  She  fanned  herself  slowly,  and  answered  non- 
chalantly: "Crime  is  a  word  of  many  meanings.  I  read 
in  the  papers  of  political  crimes — it  is  a  common  phrase ; 
yet  the  criminals  appear  to  go  unpunished." 

"There  you  are  wrong,"  he  answered  cynically.  "The 
punishment  is,  that  political  virtue  goes  unrewarded,  and 
in  due  course  crime  is  the  only  refuge  to  most.  Yet  in 
politics  the  temptation  to  be  virtuous  is  great." 

She  laughed  now  with  a  sense  of  relief.  The  intel- 
lectual stimulant  had  brought  back  the  light  to  her 
face.  "How  is  it,  then,  with  you — inveterate  habit  or 
the  strain  of  the  ages  ?  For  they  say  you  have  not  had 
your  due  reward?" 

He  smiled  grimly.  "Ah,  no,  with  me  virtue  is  the 
act  of  an  inquiring  mind — to  discover  where  it  will  lead 
me.  I  began  with  political  crime — I  was  understood! 
I  practise  political  virtue:  it  embarrasses  the  world,  it 

218 


THE    WEAVERS 

fogs  them,  it  seems  original,  because  so  unnecessary. 
Mine  is  the  scientific  life.  Experiment  in  old  substance 
gives  new — well,  say,  new  precipitations.  But  you  are 
scientific,  too.  You  have  a  laboratory,  and  have  much 
to  do — with  retorts." 

"No,  you  are  thinking  of  my  husband.  The  labora- 
tory is  his." 

"But  the  retorts  are  yours." 

"The  precipitations  are  his." 

"Ah,  well,  at  least  you  help  him  to  fuse  the  constitu- 
ents! .  .  .  But,  now,  be  quite  confidential  to  an  old  man 
who  has  experimented  too.  Is  your  husband  really  an 
amateur  scientist,  or  is  he  a  scientific  amateur?  Is  it 
a  pose  or  a  taste?  I  fiddled  once— and  wrote  sonnets; 
one  was  a  pose,  the  other  a  taste." 

It  was  mere  persiflage,  but  it  was  a  jest  which  made 
an  unintended  wound.  Hylda  became  conscious  of  a 
sudden  sharp  inquiry  going  on  in  her  mind.  There 
flashed  into  it  the  question,  Does  Eglington's  heart 
ever  really  throb  for  love  of  any  object  or  any  cause  ? 
Even  in  moments  of  greatest  intimacy,  soon  after  mar- 
riage, when  he  was  most  demonstrative  towards  her,  he 
had  seemed  preoccupied,  except  when  speaking  about 
himself  and  what  he  meant  to  do.  Then  he  made  her 
heart  throb  in  response  to  his  confident,  ardent  words 
— concerning  himself.  But  his  own  heart,  did  it  throb? 
Or  was  it  only  his  brain  that  throbbed  ? 

Suddenly,  with  an  exclamation,  she  involuntarily  laid 
a  hand  upon  Windlehurst's  arm.  She  was  looking  down 
the  room  straight  before  her  to  a  group  of  people  towards 
which  other  groups  were  now  converging,  attracted  by 
one  who  seemed  to  be  a  centre  of  interest. 

Presently  the  eager  onlookers  drew  aside,  and  Lord 
Windlehurst  observed  moving  up  the  room  a  figure  he 
had  never  seen  before.  The  new-comer  was  dressed  in 
a  gray  and  blue  official  dress,  unrelieved  save  by  silver 

219 


THE    WEAVERS 

braid  at  the  collar  and  at  the  wrists.  There  was  no 
decoration,  but  on  the  head  was  a  red  fez,  which  gave 
prominence  to  the  white,  broad  forehead,  with  the  dark 
hair  waving  away  behind  the  ears.  Lord  Windlehurst 
held  his  eye-glass  to  his  eye  in  interested  scrutiny. 

"  H'm,"  he  said,  with  lips  pursed  out,  "a  most  notable 
figure,  a  most  remarkable  face!  My  dear,  there's  a 
fortune  in  that  face.     It's  a  national  asset." 

He  saw  the  flush,  the  dumb  amazement,  the  poignant 
look  in  Lady  Eglington's  face,  and  registered  it  in  his 
mind.  "Poor  thing,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  wonder 
what  it  is  all  about — I  wonder.  I  thought  she  had  no 
unregulated  moments.  She  gave  promise  of  better 
things." 

The  Foreign  Minister  was  bringing  his  guest  towards 
them.  The  new-comer  did  not  look  at  them  till  within 
a  few  steps  of  where  they  stood.  Then  his  eyes  met 
those  of  Lady  Eglington.  For  an  instant  his  steps  were 
arrested.  A  swift  light  came  into  his  face,  softening  its 
quiet  austerity  and  strength. 

It  was  David. 


XIX 

SHARPER   THAN    A    SWORD 

A  glance  of  the  eye  was  the  only  sign  of  recognition 
between  David  and  Hylda;  nothing  that  others  saw 
could  have  suggested  that  they  had  ever  met  before. 
Lord  Windlehurst  at  once  engaged  David  in  conversa- 
tion. 

At  first  when  Hylda  had  come  back  from  Egypt,  those 
five  years  ago,  she  had  often  wondered  what  she  would 
think  or  do  if  she  ever  were  to  see  this  man  again; 
whether,  indeed,  she  could  bear  it.  Well,  the  moment 
and  the  man  had  come.  Her  eyes  had  gone  blind  for 
an  instant;  it  had  seemed  for  one  sharp,  crucial  moment 
as  though  she  could  not  bear  it;  then  the  gulf  of  agita- 
tion was  passed,  and  she  had  herself  in  hand. 

While  her  mind  was  engaged  subconsciously  with 
what  Lord  Windlehurst  and  David  said,  comprehending 
it  all,  and,  when  Lord  Windlehurst  appealed  to  her, 
offering  by  a  word  contribution  to  the  pourparler,  she 
was  studying  David  as  steadily  as  her  heated  senses 
would  permit  her. 

He  seemed  to  her  to  have  put  on  twenty  years  in  the 
steady  force  of  his  personality — in  the  composure  of  his 
bearing,  in  the  self-reliance  of  his  look,  though  his  face 
and  form  were  singularly  youthful.  The  face  was  hand- 
some and  alight,  the  look  was  that  of  one  who  weighed 
things;  yet  she  was  conscious  of  a  great  change.  The 
old  delicate  quality  of  the  features  was  not  so  marked, 

22  1 


THE    WEAVERS 

though  there  was  nothing  material  in  the  look,  and  the 
head  had  not  a  sordid  line,  while  the  hand  that  he  now 
and  again  raised,  brushing  his  forehead  meditatively, 
had  gained  much  in  strength  and  force.  Yet  there  was 
something — something  different,  that  brought  a  slight 
cloud  into  her  eyes.  It  came  to  her  now,  a  certain  mel- 
ancholy in  the  bearing  of  the  figure,  erect  and  well- 
balanced  as  it  was.  Once  the  feeling  came,  the  certainty 
grew.  And  presently  she  found  a  strange  sadness  in  the 
eyes,  something  that  lurked  behind  all  that  he  did  and 
all  that  he  was,  some  shadow  over  the  spirit.  It  was 
even  more  apparent  when  he  smiled. 

As  she  was  conscious, of  this  new  reading  of  him,  a 
motion  arrested  her  glance,  a  quick  lifting  of  the  head 
to  one  side,  as  though  the  mind  had  suddenly  been 
struck  by  an  idea,  the  glance  flying  upward  in  abstracted 
questioning.  This  she  had  seen  in  her  husband,  too, 
the  same  brisk  lifting  of  the  head,  the  same  quick  smil- 
ing. But  this  face,  unlike  Eglington's,  expressed  a  per- 
fect single-mindedness;  it  wore  the  look  of  a  self-effac- 
ing man  of  luminous  force,  a  concentrated  battery  of 
energy.  Since  she  had  last  seen  him  every  sign  of  the 
provincial  had  vanished.  He  was  now  the  well-modu- 
lated man  of  affairs,  elegant  in  his  simplicity  of  dress, 
with  the  dignified  air  of  the  intellectual,  yet  with  the 
decision  of  a  man  who  knew  his  mind.  . 

Lord  Windlehurst  was  leaving.  Now  David  and  she 
were  alone.  Without  a  word  they  moved  on  together 
through  the  throng,  the  eyes  of  all  following  them,  until 
they  reached  a  quiet  room  at  one  end  of  the  salon,  where 
were  only  a  few  people  watching  the  crowd  pass  the 
doorway. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  sit,"  he  said,  motioning  her  to  a 
chair  beside  some  palms.  Then,  with  a  change  of  tone, 
he  added,  "Thee  is  not  sorry  I  am  come?" 

Thee— the  old-fashioned  simple  Quaker  word!     She 

222 


THE    WEAVERS 

put  her  fingers  to  her  eyes.  Her  senses  were  swimming 
with  a  distant  memory.  The  East  was  in  her  brain,  the 
glow  of  the  skies,  the  gleam  of  the  desert,  the  swish  of 
the  Nile,  the  cry  of  the  sweet  -  seller,  the  song  of  the 
dance-girl,  the  strain  of  the  darabukheh,  the  call  of  the 
sdis.  She  saw  again  the  ghiassas  drifting  down  the  great 
river,  laden  with  dourha;  she  saw  the  mosque  of  the  blue 
tiles  with  its  placid  fountain,  and  its  handful  of  worship- 
pers praying  by  the  olive-tree.  She  watched  the  moon 
rise  above  the  immobile  Sphinx,  she  looked  down  on  the 
banqueters  in  the  Palace,  David  among  them,  and  Foor- 
gat  Bey  beside  her.  She  saw  Foorgat  Bey  again  lying 
dead  at  her  feet.  She  heard  the  stir  of  the  leaves;  she 
caught  the  smell  of  the  lime-trees  in  the  Palace  garden 
as  she  fled.  She  recalled  her  reckless  return  to  Cairo 
from  Alexandria.  She  remembered  the  little  room  where 
she  and  David,  Nahoum  and  Mizraim,  crossed  a  bridge 
over  a  chasm,  and  stood  upon  ground  which  had  held 
good  till  now — till  this  hour,  when  the  man  who  had 
played  a  most  vital  part  in  her  life  had  come  again  out 
of  a  land  which,  by  some  forced  obliquity  of  mind  and 
stubbornness  of  will,  she  had  assured  herself  she  would 
never  see  again. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  and  saw  him 
looking  at  her  calmly,  though  his  face  was  alight. 

"Thee  is  fatigued,"  he  said.  "This  is  labor  which 
wears  away  the  strength."  He  made  a  motion  towards 
the  crowd. 

She  smiled  a  very  little,  and  said:  "You  do  not  care 
for  such  things  as  this,  I  know.  Your  life  has  its  share 
of  it,  however,  I  suppose." 

He  looked  out  over  the  throng  before  he  answered. 
"It  seems  an  eddy  of  purposeless  waters.  Yet  there  is 
greal  depth  beneath,  or  there  wire  no  eddy;  and  where 
there  is  depth  and  the  eddy  there  is  danger  — al- 
ways." 

223 


THE    WEAVERS 

As  he  spoke  she  became  almost  herself  again.  "You 
think  that  deep  natures  have  most  perils?" 

"Thee  knows  it  is  so.  Human  nature  is  like  the 
earth :  the  deeper  the  plough  goes  into  the  soil  un- 
ploughed  before,  the  more  evil  substance  is  turned  up 
— evil  that  becomes  alive  as  soon  as  the  sun  and  the  air 
fall  upon  it." 

"Then,  women  like  me  who  pursue  a  flippant  life, 
who  ride  in  this  merry-go-round" — -she  made  a  gesture 
towards  the  crowd  beyond — "who  have  no  depth,  we 
are  safest,  we  live  upon  the  surface."  Her  gaiety  was 
forced;  her  words  were  feigned. 

"Thee  has  passed  the  point  of  danger,  thee  is  safe," 
he  answered  meaningly. 

"Is  that  because  I  am  not  deep,  or  because  the  plough 
has  been  at  work ?"  she  asked.  "In  either  case  I  am  not 
sure  you  are  right." 

"Thee  is  happily  married,"  he  said  reflectively;  "and 
the  prospect  is  fair." 

"I  think  you  know  my  husband,"  she  said  in  answer, 
and  yet  not  in  answer. 

' '  I  was  born  in  Hamley  where  he  has  a  place — thee 
has  been  there?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Not  yet.  We  are  to  go  next  Sunday — for  the  first 
time — -to  the  Cloistered  House.  I  had  not  heard  that 
my  husband  knew  you,  until  I  saw  in  the  paper  a  few 
days  ago  that  your  home  was  in  Hamley.  Then  I  asked 
Eglington,  and  he  told  me  that  your  family  and  his  had 
been  neighbors  for  generations." 

"His  father  was  a  Quaker,"  David  rejoined,  "but  he 
forsook  the  faith." 

"I  did  not  know,"  she  answered,  with  some  hesitation. 
There  was  no  reason  why,  when  she  and  Eglington  had 
talked  of  Hamley,  he  should  not  have  said  his  own  father 
had  once  been  a  Quaker;  yet  she  had  dwelt  so  upon  the 
fact  that   she  herself  had   Quaker  blood,   and   he   had 

224 


THE    WEAVERS 

laughed  so  much  over  it,  with  the  amusement  of  the 
superior  person,  that  his  silence  on  this  one  point  struck 
her  now  with  a  sense  of  confusion. 

"You  are  going  to  Hamley — we  shall  meet  there?" 
she  continued. 

"To-day  I  should  have  gone,  but  I  have  business  at 
the  Foreign  Office  to-morrow.  One  needs  time  to  learn 
that  all  'private  interests  and  partial  affections'  must 
be  sacrificed  to  public  duty." 

"But  you  are  going  soon?  You  will  be  there  on  Sun- 
day?" 

"I  shall  be  there  to-morrow  night,  and  Sunday,  and 
for  one  long  week  at  least.  Hamley  is  the  centre  of  the 
world,  the  axle  of  the  universe — you  shall  see.  You 
doubt  it?"  he  added,  with  a  whimsical  smile. 

"I  shall  dispute  most  of  what  you  say,  and  all  that 
you  think,  if  you  do  not  continue  to  use  the  Quaker 
'  thee '  and  '  thou '  —  ungrammatical  as  you  are  so 
often." 

"Thee  is  now  the  only  person  in  London,  or  in  Eng- 
land, with  whom  I  use  '  thee '  and  '  thou.'  I  am  no  long- 
er my  own  master,  I  am  a  public  servant,  and  so  I  must 
follow  custom." 

"It  is  destructive  of  personality.  The  'thee' and 
'thou'  belonged  to  you.  I  wonder  if  the  people  of 
Hamley  will  say  'thee'  and  'thou'  to  me.  I  hope,  I 
'1m  hope  they  will." 

'Thee  may  be  sure  they  will.  They  are  no  respecters 
of  persons  there.  They  called  your  husband's  father, 
Robert — -his  name  was  Robert.  Friend  Robert  they 
called  him,  and  afterwards  they  called  him  Robert  Den- 
ton till  he  died." 

'Will  they  call  me  Hylda?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"More  like  they  will  call  thee  Friend  Hylda;  it  sounds 
simple  and  strong,"  he  replied. 

"As  they  eall  Claridge  Pasha,  Friend  David,"  she  an- 

225 


THE    WEAVERS 

swered,  with  a  smile.  "David  is  a  good  name  for  a 
strong  man." 

"That  David  threw  a  stone  from  a  sling  and  smote  a 
giant  in  the  forehead.  The  stone  from  this  David's 
sling  falls  into  the  ocean  and  is  lost  beneath  the  sur- 
face." 

His  voice  had  taken  on  a  somewhat  sombre  tone,  his 
eyes  looked  away  into  the  distance;  yet  he  smiled  too, 
and  a  hand  upon  his  knee  suddenly  closed  in  sympathy 
with  an  inward  determination. 

A  light  of  understanding  came  into  her  face.  They 
had  been  keeping  things  upon  the  surface,  and,  while  it 
lasted,  he  seemed  a  lesser  man  than  she  had  thought  him 
these  past  years.  But  now — now  there  was  the  old  un- 
schooled simplicity,  the  unique  and  lonely  personality, 
the  homely  soul  and  body  bending  to  one  root-idea, 
losing  themselves  in  a  wave  of  duty.  Again  he  was  to 
her,  once  more,  the  dreamer,  the  worker,  the  conqueror 
— the  conqueror  of  her  own  imagination.  She  had  in 
herself  the  soul  of  altruism,  the  heart  of  the  crusader. 
Touched  by  the  fire  of  a  great  idea,  she  was  of  those  who 
could  have  gone  out  into  the  world  without  wallet  or 
scrip,  to  work  passionately  for  some  great  end.  .  .  .  And 
she  had  married  the  Earl  of  Eglington! 

She  leaned  towards  David,  and  said  eagerly,  "But 
you  are  satisfied — you  are  satisfied  with  your  work  for 
poor  Egypt?" 

"Thee  says  'poor  Egypt,'"  he  answered,  "and  thee 
says  well.  Even  now  she  is  not  far  from  the  day  of 
Rameses  and  Joseph.  Thee  thinks  perhaps  thee  knows 
Egypt — none  knows  her." 

"You  know  her — now ?" 

He  shook  his  head  slowly.  "It  is  like  putting  one's 
ear  to  the  mouth  of  the  Sphinx.  Yet  sometimes,  almost 
in  despair,  when  I  have  lain  down  in  the  desert  beside 
my  camel,  set  about  with  enemies,  I  have  got  a  message 

226 


THE    WEAVERS 

from  the  barren  desert,  the  wide  silence,  and  the  stars." 
He  paused. 

"What  is  the  message  that  comes?"  she  asked  softly. 

"It  is  always  the  same:  Work  on!  Seek  not  to  know 
too  much,  nor  think  that  what  you  do  is  of  vast  value. 
Work,  because  it  is  yours  to  be  adjusting  the  machinery 
in  your  own  little  workshop  of  life  to  the  wide  mechan- 
ism of  the  universe  and  time.  One  wheel  set  right,  one 
flying  belt  adjusted,  and  there  is  a  step  forward  to  the 
final  harmony — ah,  but  how  I  preach!"  he  added  hastily. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  hers  with  a  great  sincerity,  and 
they  were  clear  and  shining,  yet  his  lips  were  smiling — 
what  a  trick  they  had  of  smiling!  He  looked  as  though 
he  should  apologize  for  such  words  in  such  a  place. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  great  suspiration,  with  a 
light  in  her  eyes  and  a  trembling  smile. 

"Ah,  no,  no,  no,  you  inspire  one.  Thee  inspires  me," 
she  said  with  a  little  laugh,  in  which  there  was  a  note 
of  sadness.  "I  may  use  'thee,'  may  I  not,  when  I  will? 
I  am  a  little  a  Quaker  also,  am  I  not?  My  people  came 
from  Derbyshire,  my  American  people,  that  is — and 
only  forty  years  ago.  Almost  thee  persuades  me  to  be 
a  Quaker  now,"  she  added.  "And  perhaps  I  shall  be, 
too,"  she  went  on,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  crowd  passing 
by,  Eglington  among  them. 

David  saw  Eglington  also,  and  moved  forward  with 
her. 

"We  shall  meet  in  Hamley,"  she  said  composedly,  as 
she  saw  her  husband  leave  the  crush  and  come  towards 
her.  As  Eglington  noticed  David  a  curious  enigmatical 
glance  flashed  from  his  eyes.  He  came  forward,  however, 
with  outstretched  hand. 

"I  am  sorry  I  was  not  at  the  Foreign  Office  when  you 
called  to-day.  Welcome  back  to  England,  home — and 
beauty."  He  laughed  in  a  rather  mirthless  way,  but 
with   a   certain   empressement,  conscious,  as  he  always 

227 


THE    WEAVERS 

was,  of  the  onlookers.  "You  have  had  a  busy  time  in 
Egypt?"  he  continued  cheerfully,  and  laughed  again. 

David  laughed  slightly,  also,  and  Hylda  noticed  that 
it  had  a  certain  resemblance  in  its  quick  naturalness  to 
that  of  her  husband;  but  the  one  was  different. 

' '  I  am  not  sure  that  we  are  so  busy  there  as  we  ought 
to  be,"  David  answered.  "I  have  no  real  standards. 
I  am  but  an  amateur,  and  have  known  nothing  of  public 
life.     But  you  should  come  and  see." 

"It  has  been  in  my  mind.  An  ounce  of  eyesight  is 
worth  a  ton  of  print.  My  lady  was  there  once,  I  be- 
lieve " — he  turned  towards  her — "but  before  your  time, 
I  think.  Or  did  you  meet  there,  perhaps  ?"  He  glanced 
at  both  curiously.  He  scarcely  knew  why  a  thought 
flashed  into  his  mind — as  though  by  some  telepathic 
sense;  for  it  had  never  been  there  before,  and  there  was 
no  reason  for  its  being  there  now. 

Hylda  saw  what  David  was  about  to  answer,  and  she 
knew  instinctively  that  he  would  say  they  had  never 
met.  It  shamed  her.  She  intervened  as  she  saw  he 
was  about  to  speak. 

"We  were  introduced  for  the  first  time  to-night,"  she 
said ;  ' '  but  Claridge  Pasha  is  part  of  my  education  in  the 
world.  It  is  a  miracle  that  Hamley  should  produce  two 
such  men,"  she  added  gayly,  and  laid  her  fan  upon  her 
husband's  arm  lightly.  "You  should  have  been  a 
Quaker,  Harry,  and  then  you  two  would  have  been — " 

"Two  Quaker  Don  Quixotes,"  interrupted  Eglington 
ironically. 

"I  should  not  have  called  you  a  Don  Quixote,"  his 
wife  lightly  rejoined,  relieved  at  the  turn  things  had 
taken.     "I  cannot  imagine  you  tilting  at  windmills — " 

"Or  saving  maidens  in  distress?  Well,  perhaps  not; 
but  you  do  not  suggest  that  Claridge  Pasha  tilts  at  wind- 
mills either — or  saves  maidens  in  distress.  Though,  now 
I  come  to  think,  there  was  an  episode!"     He  laughed 

228 


THE    WEAVERS 

maliciously.  "Some  time  ago  it  was  —  a  lass  of  the 
cross-roads!  I  think  I  heard  of  such  an  adventure, 
which  did  credit  to  Claridge  Pasha's  heart,  though  it 
shocked  Hamley  at  the  time.  But  I  wonder,  was  the 
maiden  really  saved?" 

Lady  Eglington's  face  became  rigid.  "Ah,  yes,"  she 
said  slowly,  "the  maiden  was  saved.  She  is  now  my 
maid.  Hamley  may  have  been  shocked,  but  Claridge 
Pasha  has  every  reason  to  be  glad  that  he  helped  a  fel- 
low-being in  trouble." 

"Your  maid — Heaver?"  asked  Eglington  in  surprise, 
a  swift  shadow  crossing  his  face. 

"Yes;  she  only  told  me  this  morning.  Perhaps  she 
had  seen  that  Claridge  Pasha  was  coming  to  England. 
I  had  not,  however.     At  any  rate,  Quixotism  saved  her." 

David  smiled.  "It  is  better  than  I  dared  to  hope," 
he  remarked  quietly. 

"But  that  is  not  all,"  continued  Hylda.  "There  is 
more.  She  had  been  used  badly  by  a  man  who  now 
wants  to  marry  her — has  tried  to  do  so  for  years.  Now, 
be  prepared  for  a  surprise,  for  it  concerns  you  rather 
closely,  Eglington.  Fate  is  a  whimsical  jade.  Whom 
do  you  think  it  is?  Well,  since  you  could  never  guess 
— Jasper  Kimber." 

Eglington's  eyes  opened  wide.  "This  is  nothing  but 
a  coarse  and  impossible  stage  coincidence,"  he  laughed. 
"It  is  one  of  those  tricks  played  by  Fact  to  discredit  the 
imagination.  Life  is  laughing  at  us  again.  The  longer 
I  live,  the  more  I  am  conscious  of  being  an  object  of 
derision  by  the  scene-shifters  in  the  wings  of  the  stage. 
What  a  cynical  comedy  life  is  at  the  best!" 

"It  all  seems  natural  enough,"  rejoined  David. 

"It  is  all  paradox." 

"Isn't  it  all  inevitable  law?  I  have  no  belief  in  'antic 
•!'" 

Hylda  realized,  with  a  new  and  poignant  understand- 

229 


THE    WEAVERS 

ing,  the  difference  of  outlook  on  life  between  the  two 
men.  She  suddenly  remembered  the  words  of  Con- 
fucius, which  she  had  set  down  in  her  little  book  of  daily- 
life:  "By  nature  we  approximate,  it  is  only  experience 
that  drives  us  apart." 

David  would  have  been  content  to  live  in  the  desert 
all  his  life  for  the  sake  of  a  cause,  making  no  calculations 
as  to  reward.  Eglington  must  ever  have  the  counters 
for  the  game. 

"Well,  if  you  do  not  believe  in  'antic  Fate,'  you  must 
be  greatly  puzzled  as  you  go  on,"  he  rejoined,  laughing; 
"especially  in  Egypt,  where  the  East  and  the  West  col- 
lide, race  against  race,  religion  against  religion,  Oriental 
mind  against  Occidental  intellect.  You  have  an  un- 
usual quantity  of  Quaker  composure,  to  see  in  it  all  'in- 
evitable law.'  And  it  must  be  dull.  But  you  always 
were,  so  they  say  in  Hamley,  a  monument  of  seriousness." 

"I  believe  they  made  one  or  two  exceptions,"  answered 
David  dryly.     "I  had  assurances." 

Eglington  laughed  boyishly.  "You  are  right.  You 
achieved  a  name  for  humor  in  a  day — 'a  glass,  a  kick, 
and  a  kiss,'  it  was.     Do  you  have  such  days  in  Egypt  ?" 

"You  must  come  and  see,"  David  answered  lightly, 
declining  to  notice  the  insolence.  "These  are  critical 
days  there.  The  problems  are  worthy  of  your  care. 
Will  you  not  come?" 

Eglington  was  conscious  of  a  peculiar  persuasive  in- 
fluence over  himself  that  he  had  never  felt  before.  In 
proportion,  however,  as  he  felt  its  compelling  quality, 
there  came  a  jealousy  of  the  man  who  was  its  cause. 
The  old  antagonism,  which  had  had  its  sharpest  ex- 
pression the  last  time  they  had  met  on  the  platform  at 
Heddington  came  back.  It  was  one  strong  will  resent- 
ing another — as  though  there  was  not  room  enough  in 
the  wide  world  of  being  for  these  two  atoms  of  life,  sparks 
from  the  ceaseless  wheel,  one  making  a  little  brighter 

230 


THE    WEAVERS 

flash  than  the  other  for  the  moment,  and  then  presently 
darkness,  and  the  whirring  wheel  which  threw  them  off, 
throwing  off  millions  of  others  again. 

On  the  moment  Eglington  had  a  temptation  to  say- 
something  with  an  edge,  which  would  show  David  that 
his  success  in  Egypt  hung  upon  the  course  that  he  him- 
self and  the  weak  Foreign  Minister,  under  whom  he 
served,  would  take.  And  this  course  would  be  his  own 
course  largely,  since  he  had  been  appointed  to  be  a  force 
and  strength  in  the  Foreign  Office  which  his  chief  did 
not  supply.  He  refrained,  however,  and,  on  the  mo- 
ment, remembered  the  promise  he  had  given  to  Faith  to 
help  David. 

A  wave  of  feeling  passed  over  him.  His  wife  was  beau- 
tiful, a  creature  of  various  charms,  a  centre  of  attraction. 
Yet  he  had  never  really  loved  her — so  many  sordid 
elements  had  entered  into  the  thought  of  marriage  with 
her,  lowering  the  character  of  his  affection.  With  a 
perversity  which  only  such  men  know,  such  heart  as  he 
had  turned  to  the  unknown  Quaker  girl  who  had  re- 
buked him,  scathed  him,  laid  bare  his  soul  before  him- 
self, as  no  one  ever  had  done.  To  Eglington  it  was  a 
relief  that  there  was  one  human  being — he  thought  there 
was  only  one — who  read  him  through  and  through;  and 
that  knowledge  was  in  itself  as  powerful  an  influence  as 
was  the  secret  between  David  and  Hylda.  It  was  a  kind 
of  confessional,  comforting  to  a  nature  not  self-contained. 
Now  he  restrained  his  cynical  intention  to  deal  David 
a  side-thrust,  and  said  quietly: 

"We  shall  meet  at  Hamley,  shall  we  not  ?  Let  us  talk 
there,  and  not  at  the  Foreign  Office.  You  would  care  to 
go  to  Egypt,  Hylda?" 

vShc  forced  a  smile.  "Let  us  talk  it  over  at  Ham- 
ley." 

With  a  smile  to  David  she  turned  away  to  some 
friends. 

16  231 


THE    WEAVERS 

Eglington  offered  to  introduce  David  to  some  notable 
people,  but  he  said  that  he  must  go — he  was  fatigued 
after  his  journey.     He  had  no  wish  to  be  lionized. 

As  he  left  the  salon,  the  band  was  playing  a  tune  that 
made  him  close  his  eyes,  as  though  against  something  he 
would  not  see.  The  band  in  Kaid's  Palace  had  played 
it  that  night  when  he  had  killed  Foorgat  Bey. 


XX 

EACH    AFTER    HIS    OWN    ORDER 

With  the  passing  years  new  feelings  had  grown  up 
in  the  heart  of  Luke  Claridge.  Once  David's  destiny 
and  career  were  his  own  peculiar  and  self-assumed  re- 
sponsibility. "Inwardly  convicted,"  he  had  wrenched 
the  lad  away  from  the  natural  circumstances  of  his  life, 
and  created  a  scheme  of  existence  for  him  out  of  his  own 
conscience — a  pious  egoist. 

After  David  went  to  Egypt,  however,  his  mind  in- 
voluntarily formed  the  resolution  that  "Davy  and  God 
should  work  it  out  together." 

He  had  grown  very  old  in  appearance,  and  his  quiet 
face  was  almost  painfully  white;  but  the  eyes  burned 
with  more  fire  than  in  the  past.  As  the  day  approached 
when  David  should  arrive  in  England,  he  walked  by  him- 
self continuously,  oblivious  of  the  world  round  him.  He 
spoke  to  no  one,  save  the  wizened  Elder  Meacham,  and  to 
Elder  Fairley,  who  rightly  felt  that  he  had  a  share  in  the 
making  of  Claridge  Pasha. 

With  head  perched  in  the  air  and  face  half  hidden  in 
his  great  white  collar,  the  wizened  Elder,  stopping  Luke 
Claridge  in  the  street  one  day,  said: 

"  Does  thee  think  the  lad  will  ride  in  Pharaoh's  chariot 
here?" 

There  were  sly  lines  of  humor  about  the  mouth  of 
the  wizened  Elder  as  he  spoke,  but  Luke  Claridge  did 
not  see. 

233 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Pride  is  far  from  his  heart,"  he  answered  porten- 
tously. "He  will  ride  in  no  chariot.  He  has  written 
that  he  will  walk  here  from  Hedding  on,  and  none  is  to 
meet  him." 

"He  will  come  by  the  cross-roads,  perhaps,"  rejoined 
the  other  piously.  'Well,  well,  memory  is  a  flower  or  a 
rod,  as  John  Fox  said,  and  the  cross-roads  have  memories 
for  him." 

Again  flashes  of  humor  crossed  his  face,  for  he  had  a 
wide  humanity,  of  insufficient  exercise. 

"He  has  made  full  atonement,  and  thee  does  ill  to 
recall  the  past,  Reuben,"  rejoined  the  other  sternly. 

"If  he  has  done  no  more  that  needs  atonement  than 
he  did  that  day  at  the  cross-roads,  then  has  his  history 
been  worthy  of  Hamley,"  rejoined  the  wizened  Elder, 
eyes  shut  and  head  buried  in  his  collar.  "Hamley  made 
him — Hamley  made  him.  We  did  not  spare  advice,  or 
example,  or  any  correction  that  came  to  our  minds — 
indeed,  it  was  almost  a  luxury.  Think  you,  does  he  still 
play  the  flute — an  instrument  none  too  grave,  Luke?" 

But,  to  this,  Luke  Claridge  exclaimed  impatiently  and 
hastened  on;  and  the  little  wizened  Elder  chuckled  to 
himself  all  the  way  to  the  house  of  John  Fairley.  None 
in  Hamley  took  such  pride  in  David  as  did  these  two  old 
men,  who  had  loved  him  from  a  child,  but  had  discreetly 
hidden  their  favor,  save  to  each  other.  Many  times  they 
had  met  and  prayed  together  in  the  weeks  when  his  life 
was  in  notorious  danger  in  the  Soudan. 

As  David  walked  through  the  streets  of  Heddington 
making  for  the  open  country,  he  was  conscious  of  a  new 
feeling  regarding  the  place.  It  was  familiar,  but  in  a 
new  sense.  Its  grimy,  narrow  streets,  unlovely  houses, 
with  shut  windows,  summer  though  it  was,  and  no 
softening  influences  anywhere,  save  here  and  there  a  box 
of  sickly  geraniums  in  the  windows,  all  struck  his  mind 

234 


THE    WEAVERS 

in  a  way  they  had  never  done  before.  A  mile  away  were 
the  green  fields,  the  woods,  the  roadsides  gay  with 
flowers  and  shrubs — loveliness  was  but  over  the  wall,  as 
it  were;  yet  here  the  barrack-like  houses,  the  gray,  harsh 
streets,  seemed  like  prison  walls,  and  the  people  in  them 
prisoners  who,  with  every  legal  right  to  call  themselves 
free,  were  as  much  captives  as  the  criminal  on  some  small 
island  in  a  dangerous  sea.  Escape — where?  Into  the 
gulf  of  no  work  and  degradation  ? 

They  never  lifted  their  eyes  above  the  day's  labor. 
They  were  scarce  conscious  of  anything  beyond.  What 
were  their  pleasures  ?  They  had  imitations  of  pleasures. 
To  them  a  funeral  or  a  wedding,  a  riot  or  a  vociferous 
band,  a  dog-fight  or  a  strike,  were  alike  in  this,  that  they 
quickened  feelings  which  carried  them  out  of  themselves, 
gave  them  a  sense  of  intoxication. 

Intoxication?  David  remembered  the  far-off  day  of 
his  own  wild  rebellion  in  Hamley.  From  that  day  for- 
ward he  had  better  realized  that  in  the  hearts  of  so  many 
of  the  human  race  there  was  a  passion  to  forget  them- 
selves; to  blot  out,  if  for  a  moment  only,  the  troubles  of 
life  and  time;  or,  by  creating  a  false  air  of  exaltation,  to 
rise  above  them.  Once  in  the  desert,  when  men  were 
dying  round  him  of  fever  and  dysentery,  he  had  been 
obliged,  exhausted  and  ill,  scarce  able  to  drag  himself 
from  his  bed,  to  resort  to  an  opiate  to  allay  his  own  suf- 
ferings, that  he  might  minister  to  others.  He  remem- 
bered how,  in  the  atmosphere  it  had  created, — an  intoxi- 
cation, a  soothing  exhilaration  and  pervasive  thrill — he 
had  saved  so  many  of  his  followers.  Since  then  the 
temptation  had  come  upon  him  often  when  trouble 
weighed  or  difficulties  surrounded  him — accompanied 
always  by  recurrence  of  fever — to  resort  to  the  insidious 
medicine.  Though  he  had  fought  the  temptation  with 
ry  inch  of  his  strength,  he  could  too  well  understand 
those  who  sought  for  "surcease  of  pain" — 

235 


THE    WEAVERS 

"  Seeking  for  surcease  of  pain, 
Pilgrim  to  Lethe  I  came; 
Drank  not,  for  pride  was  too  keen 
Stung  by  the  sound  of  a  name!" 

As  the  plough  of  action  had  gone  deep  into  his  life 
and  laid  bare  his  nature  to  the  light,  there  had  been  ex- 
posed things  which  struggled  for  life  and  power  in  him, 
with  the  fiery  strength  which  only  evil  has. 

The  western  heavens  were  aglow.  On  every  hand  the 
gorse  and  the  may  were  in  bloom,  the  lilacs  were  coming 
to  their  end,  but  wild  rhododendrons  were  glowing  in 
the  bracken,  as  he  stepped  along  the  road  towards  the 
place  where  he  was  born.  Though  every  tree  and  road- 
mark  was  familiar,  yet  he  was  conscious  of  a  new  out- 
look. He  had  left  these  quiet  scenes  inexperienced  and 
untra veiled,  to  be  thrust  suddenly  into  the  thick  of  a 
struggle  of  nations  over  a  sick  land.  He  had  worked  in  a 
vortex  of  debilitating  local  intrigue.  All  who  had  to 
do  with  Egypt  gained  except  herself,  and  if  she  moved  in 
revolt  or  agony,  they  threatened  her.  Once  when  re- 
sisting the  pressure  and  the  threats  of  war  of  a  foreign 
diplomatist,  he  had,  after  a  trying  hour,  written  to  Faith 
in  a  burst  of  passionate  complaint,  and  his  letter  had 
ended  with  these  words: 

"In  your  onward  march,  O  men, 

White  of  face,  in  promise  whiter, 
You  unsheath  the  sword,  and  then 
Blame  the  wronged  as  the  fighter! 

"Time,  ah,  Time,  rolls  onward  o'er 
All  these  foetid  fields  of  evil, 
While  hard  at  the  nation's  core 

Eats  the  burning  rust  and  weevil! 

"  Nathless,  out  beyond  the  stars 

Reigns  the  Wiser  and  the  Stronger, 
Seeing  in  all  strifes  and  wars 

Who  the  wronged,  who  the  wronger." 
236 


THE    WEAVERS 

Privately  he  had  spoken  thus,  but  before  the  world  he 
had  given  way  to  no  impulse,  in  silence  finding  safety 
from  the  temptation  to  diplomatic  evasion.  Looking 
back  over  five  years,  he  felt  now  that  the  sum  of  his 
accomplishment  had  been  small. 

He  did  not  realize  the  truth.  When  his  hand  was  al- 
most upon  the  object  for  which  he  had  toiled  and 
striven — whether  pacifying  a  tribe,  meeting  a  loan  by 
honest  means,  building  a  barrage,  irrigating  the  land, 
financing  a  new  industry,  or  experimenting  in  cotton 
— it  suddenly  eluded  him.  Nahoum  had  snatched  it 
away  by  subterranean  wires.  On  such  occasions  Nahoum 
would  shrug  his  shoulders,  and  say  with  a  sigh,  "Ah, 
my  friend,  let  us  begin  again.  We  are  both  young;  time 
is  with  us;  and  we  will  flourish  palms  in  the  face  of 
Europe  yet.  We  have  our  course  set  by  a  bright  star. 
We  will  continue." 

Yet,  withal,  David  was  the  true  altruist.  Even  now 
as  he  walked  this  road  which  led  to  his  old  home,  dear 
to  him  beyond  all  else,  his  thoughts  kept  flying  to  the 
Nile  and  to  the  desert. 

Suddenly  he  stopped.  He  was  at  the  cross-roads. 
Here  he  had  met  Kate  Heaver,  here  he  had  shamed  his 
neighbors — and  begun  his  work  in  life.  He  stood  for  a 
moment,  smiling,  as  he  looked  at  the  stone  where  he  had 
sat  those  years  ago,  his  hand  feeling  instinctively  for 
his  flute.     Presently  he  turned  to  the  dusty  road  again. 

Walking  quickly  away,  he  swung  into  the  path  of  the 
wood  which  would  bring  him  by  a  short  cut  to  Hamley, 
past  Soolsby's  cottage.  Here  was  the  old  peace,  the 
old  joy  of  solitude  among  the  healing  trees.  Experience 
had  broadened  his  life,  had  given  him  a  vast  theatre  of 
work;  but  the  smell  of  the  woods,  the  touch  of  the  turf, 
the  whispering  of  the  trees,  the  song  of  the  birds,  had 
the  ancient  entry  to  his  heart. 

237 


THE    WEAVERS 

At  last  he  emerged  on  the  hill  where  Soolsby  lived. 
He  had  not  meant,  if  he  could  help  it,  to  speak  to  any 
one  until  he  had  entered  the  garden  of  the  Red  Mansion, 
but  he  had  inadvertently  come  upon  this  place  where 
he  had  spent  the  most  momentous  days  of  his  life,  and 
a  feeling  stronger  than  he  cared  to  resist  drew  him  to 
the  open  doorway.  The  afternoon  sun  was  beating  in 
over  the  threshold  as  he  reached  it,  and,  at  his  footstep, 
a  figure  started  forward  from  the  shadow  of  a  corner. 

It  was  Kate  Heaver. 

Surprise,  then  pain,  showed  in  her  face;  she  flushed, 
was  agitated. 

"I  am  sorry.  It's  too  bad  —  it's  hard  on  him  you 
should  see,"  she  said  in  a  breath,  and  turned  her  head 
away  for  an  instant;  but  presently  looked  him  in  the 
face  again,  all  trembling  and  eager.  "He'll  be  sorry 
enough  to-morrow,"  she  added  solicitously,  and  drew 
away  from  something  she  had  been  trying  to  hide. 

Then  David  saw.  On  a  bench  against  the  wall  lay 
old  Soolsby — drunk.  A  cloud  passed  across  his  face  and 
left  it  pale. 

"Of  course,"  he  said  simply,  and  went  over  and 
touched  the  heaving  shoulders  reflectively.  "Poor 
Soolsby!" 

"He's  been  sober  four  years  —  over  four,"  she  said 
eagerly.  "When  he  knew  you'd  come  again,  he  got 
wild,  and  he  would  have  the  drink  in  spite  of  all.  Walk- 
ing from  Heddington,  I  saw  him  at  the  tavern,  and 
brought  him  home." 

"At  the  tavern — "  David  said  reflectively. 

"The  Fox  and  Goose,  sir."  She  turned  her  face  away 
again,  and  David's  head  came  up  with  a  quick  motion. 
There  it  was,  five  years  ago,  that  he  had  drunk  at  the 
bar,  and  had  fought  Jasper  Kimber. 

"Poor  fellow!"  he  said  again,  and  listened  to  Soolsby 's 
stertorous  breathing,  as  a  physician  looks  at  a  patient 

238 


THE    WEAVERS 

whose  case  he  cannot  control,  does  not  wholly  under- 
stand. 

The  hand  of  the  sleeping  man  was  suddenly  raised, 
his  head  gave  a  jerk,  and  he  said  mumblingly,  "Claridge 
forever!" 

Kate  nervously  intervened.  "It  fair  beat  him,  your 
coming  back,  sir.  It's  awful  temptation,  the  drink.  I 
lived  in  it  for  years,  and  it's  cruel  hard  to  fight  it  when 
you're  worked  up  either  way,  sorrow  or  joy.  There's 
a  real  pleasure  in  being  drunk,  I'm  sure.  While  it  lasts 
you're  rich,  and  you're  young,  and  you  don't  care  what 
happens.  It's  kind  of  you  to  take  it  like  this,  sir,  seeing 
you've  never  been  tempted  and  mightn't  understand." 

David  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  looked  at  Soolsby  in 
silence. 

"I  don't  suppose  he  took  a  quarter  what  he  used  to 
take,  but  it  made  him  drunk.  'Twas  but  a  minute  of 
madness.     You've  saved  him  right  enough." 

"I  was  not  blaming  him.  I  understand  —  I  under- 
stand." 

He  looked  at  her  clearly.  She  was  healthy  and  fine- 
looking,  with  large,  eloquent  eyes.  Her  dress  was  severe 
and  quiet,  as  became  her  occupation — a  plain  dark  gray, 
but  the  shapely  fulness  of  the  figure  gave  softness  to  the 
outlines.  It  was  no  wonder  Jasper  Kimber  wished  to 
marry  her;  and,  if  he  did,  the  future  of  the  man  was 
sure.  She  had  a  temperament  which  might  have  made 
her  an  adventuress — or  an  opera-singer.  She  had  been 
touched  in  time,  and  she  had  never  looked  back. 

'You  are  with  Lady  Eglington  now,  I  have  heard?" 
he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"It  was  hard  for  you  in  London  at  first?" 

She  met  his  look  steadily.  "It  was  easy  in  a  way. 
I  could  see  round  me  what  was  the  right  thing  to  do. 
Oh,   that   was  what  was  so  awful   in   the  old  life  over 

239 


THE    WEAVERS 

there  at  Heddington."  She  pointed  beyond  the  hill. 
"We  didn't  know  what  was  good  and  what  was  bad.  The 
poor  people  in  big  working-places  like  Heddington  ain't 
much  better  than  heathens,  leastways  as  to  most  things 
that  matter.  They  haven't  got  a  sensible  religion,  not 
one  that  gets  down  into  what  they  do.  The  parson 
doesn't  reach  them  —  he  talks  about  church  and  the 
sacraments,  and  they  don't  get  at  what  good  it's  going 
to  do  them.  And  the  chapel  preachers  ain't  much 
better.  They  talk  and  sing  and  pray,  when  what  the 
people  want  is  light  and  hot  water  and  soap,  and  be- 
ing showed  how  to  live,  and  how  to  bring  up  children 
healthy  and  strong,  and  decent-cooked  food.  I'd  have 
food-hospitals  if  I  could,  and  I'd  give  the  children  in  the 
schools  one  good  meal  a  day.  I'm  sure  the  children  of 
the  poor  go  wrong  and  bad  more  through  the  way  they 
live  than  anything.  If  only  they  was  taught  right- 
not  as  though  they  was  paupers!  Give  me  enough 
nurses  of  the  right  sort,  and  enough  good  plain  cooks, 
and  meat  three  times  a  week,  and  milk  and  bread  and 
rice  and  porridge  every  day,  and  I'd  make  a  new  place 
of  any  town  in  England  in  a  year.     I'd — " 

She  stopped  all  at  once,  however,  and  flushing,  said, 
"I  didn't  stop  to  think  I  was  talking  to  you,  sir." 

"I  am  glad  you  speak  to  me  so,"  he  answered  gently. 
"You  and  I  are  both  reformers  at  heart." 

"Me?  I've  done  nothing,  sir,  not  any  good  to  any- 
body or  anything." 

"Not  to  Jasper  Kimber?" 

"You  did  that,  sir;  he  says  so;  he  says  you  made  him." 

A  quick  laugh  passed  David's  lips.  "Men  are  not 
made  so  easily.  I  think  I  know  the  trowel  and  the 
mortar  that  built  that  wall!  Thee  will  marry  him, 
friend?" 

Her  eyes  burned  as  she  looked  at  him.  She  had  been 
eternally  dispossessed  of  what  every  woman  has  the  right 

240 


THE    WEAVERS 

to  have — one  memory  possessing  the  elements  of  beauty. 
Even  if  it  remain  but  for  the  moment,  yet  that  moment 
is  hers  by  right  of  her  sex,  which  is  denied  the  wider 
rights  of  those  they  love  and  serve.  She  had  tasted  the 
cup  of  bitterness  and  drunk  of  the  waters  of  sacrifice. 
Married  life  had  no  lure  for  her.  She  wanted  none  of  it. 
The  seed  of  service  had,  however,  taken  root  in  a  nature 
full  of  fire  and  light  and  power,  undisciplined  and  unde- 
veloped as  it  was.  She  wished  to  do  something — the 
spirit  of  toil,  the  first  habit  of  the  life  of  the  poor,  the 
natural  medium  for  the  good  that  may  be  in  them,  had 
possession  of  her. 

This  man  was  to  her  the  symbol  of  work.  To  have 
cared  for  his  home,  to  have  looked  after  his  daily  needs, 
to  have  sheltered  him  humbly  from  little  things,  would 
have  been  her  one  true  happiness.  And  this  was  denied 
her.  Had  she  been  a  man,  it  had  been  so  easy.  She 
could  have  offered  to  be  his  servant;  could  have  done 
those  things  which  she  could  do  better  than  any,  since 
hers  would  be  a  heart-service. 

But  even  as  she  looked  at  him  now,  she  had  a  flash 
of  insight  and  prescience.  She  had,  from  little  things 
said  or  done,  from  newspapers  marked  and  a  hundred 
small  indications,  made  up  her  mind  that  her  mistress's 
mind  dwelt  much  upon  "the  Egyptian."  The  thought 
flashed  now  that  she  might  serve  this  man,  after  all; 
that  a  day  might  come  when  she  could  say  that  she  had 
played  a  part  in  his  happiness,  in  return  for  all  he  had 
done  for  her.  Life  had  its  chances — and  strange  things 
had  happened.  In  her  own  mind  she  had  decided  that 
her  mistress  was  not  happy,  and  who  could  tell  what 
might  happen  ?  Men  did  not  live  forever!  The  thought 
came  and  went,  but  it  left  behind  a  determination  to  an- 
swer David  as  she  fcl  . 

"I  will  not  marry  Jasper,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "I 
want  work,  not  marriage." 

241 


THE    WEAVERS 

"There  would  be  both,"  he  urged. 

"With  women  there  is  the  one  or  the  other,  not 
both." 

"Thee  could  help  him.  He  has  done  credit  to  him- 
self, and  he  can  do  good  work  for  England.  Thee  can 
help  him." 

"I  want  work  alone,  not  marriage,  sir." 

"He  would  pay  thee  his  debt." 

"He  owes  me  nothing.  What  happened  was  no  fault 
of  his,  but  of  the  life  we  were  born  in.  He  tired  of  me, 
and  left  me.  Husbands  tire  of  their  wives,  but  stay  on 
and  beat  them." 

"He  drove  thee  mad  almost,  I  remember!" 

"Wives  go  mad  and  are  never  cured,  so  many  of  them. 
I've  seen  them  die,  poor  things,  and  leave  the  little  ones 
behind.  I  had  the  luck  wi'  me.  I  took  the  right  turn- 
ing at  the  cross-roads  yonder." 

"Thee  must  be  Jasper's  wife  if  he  asks  thee  again," 
he  urged. 

"He  will  come  when  I  call,  but  I  will  not  call,"  she 
answered. 

"But  still  thee  will  marry  him  when  the  heart  is 
ready,"  he  persisted.  "It  shall  be  ready  soon.  He 
needs  thee.  Good-bye,  friend.  Leave  Soolsby  alone. 
He  will  be  safe.  And  do  not  tell  him  that  I  have  seen 
him  so."  He  stooped  over  and  touched  the  old  man's 
shoulder  gently. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  took  it,  then  sud- 
denly leaned  over  and  kissed  it.     She  could  not  speak. 

He  stepped  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  Behind  the 
Red  Mansion  the  sun  was  setting,  and  the  far  garden 
looked  cool  and  sweet.  He  gave  a  happy  sigh,  and 
stepped  out  and  down. 

As  he  disappeared,  the  woman  dropped  into  a  chair, 
her  arms  upon  a  table.     Her  body  shook  with  sobs. 

She  sat  there  for  an  hour,  and  then,  when  the  sun  was 

242 


THE    WEAVERS 

setting,  she  left  the  drunken  man  sleeping,  and  made  her 
way  down  the  hill  to  the  Cloistered  House. 

Entering,  she  was  summoned  to  her  mistress's  room. 

"I  did  not  expect  my  lady  so  soon,"  she  said,  sur- 
prised. 

' '  No ;  we  came  sooner  than  we  expected.  Where  have 
you  been?" 

"At  Soolsby's  hut  on  the  hill,  my  lady." 

"Who  is  Soolsby?" 

Kate  told  her  all  she  knew,  and  of  what  had  happened 
that  afternoon — but  not  all. 


XXI 

"there  is  nothing  hidden  which  shall  not  be 

revealed" 

A  fortnight  had  passed  since  they  had  come  to 
Hamley — David,  Eglington,  and  Hylda— and  they  had 
all  travelled  a  long  distance  in  mutual  understanding 
during  that  time,  too  far,  thought  Luke  Claridge,  who 
remained  neutral  and  silent.  He  would  not  let  Faith 
go  to  the  Cloistered  House,  though  he  made  no  protest 
against  David  going;  because  he  recognized  in  these 
visits  the  duty  of  diplomacy  and  the  business  of  the 
nation — more  particularly  David's  business,  which,  in 
his  eyes,  swallowed  all.  Three  times  David  had  gone 
to  the  Cloistered  House;  once  Hylda  and  he  had  met  in 
the  road  leading  to  the  old  mill,  and  once  at  Soolsby's 
hut.  Twice,  also,  in  the  garden  of  his  old  home  he  had 
seen  her,  when  she  came  to  visit  Faith,  who  had  capt- 
ured her  heart  at  once.  Eglington  and  Faith  had  not 
met,  however.  He  was  either  busy  in  his  laboratory,  or 
with  his  books,  or  riding  over  the  common  and  through 
the  woods,  and  their  courses  lay  apart. 

But  there  came  an  afternoon  when  Hylda  and  David 
were  a  long  hour  together  at  the  Cloistered  House. 
They  talked  freely  of  his  work  in  Egypt.  At  last  she 
said,  "And  Nahoum  Pasha?" 

"He  has  kept  faith." 

"He  is  in  high  place  again ?" 

"He  is  a  good  administrator 

244 


THE    WEAVERS 

"You  put  him  there!" 

"Thee  remembers  what  I  said  to  him,  that  night  in 
Cairo?" 

Hylda  closed  her  eyes  and  drew  in  a  long  breath. 
Had  there  been  a  word  spoken  that  night  when  she  and 
David  and  Nahoum  met  which  had  not  bitten  into  her 
soul!  That  David  had  done  so  much  in  Egypt  without 
ruin  or  death  was  a  tribute  to  his  power.  Nevertheless, 
though  Nahoum  had  not  struck  yet,  she  was  certain  he 
would  one  day.  All  that  David  now  told  her  of  the 
vicissitudes  of  his  plans,  and  Nahoum's  sympathy  and 
help,  only  deepened  this  conviction.  She  could  well  be- 
lieve that  Nahoum  gave  David  money  from  his  own 
pocket,  which  he  replaced  by  extortion  from  other 
sources,  while  gaining  credit  with  David  for  co-opera- 
tion. Armenian  Christian,  Nahoum  might  be,  but  he 
was  ranged  with  the  East  against  the  West,  with  the 
reactionary  and  corrupt  against  advance,  against  civili- 
zation and  freedom  and  equality.  Nahoum's  Christian- 
ity was  permeated  with  Orientalism,  the  Christian  belief 
obscured  by  the  theism  of  the  Muslim.  David  was  in  a 
deadlier  struggle  than  he  knew.  Yet  it  could  serve  no 
good  end  to  attempt  to  warn  him  now.  He  had  out- 
lived peril  so  far,  might  it  not  be  that,  after  all,  he 
would  win  ? 

So  far  she  had  avoided  Nahoum's  name  in  talks  with 
David.  She  could  scarcely  tell  why  she  did,  save  that 
it  opened  a  door  better  closed,  as  it  were;  but  the  re- 
straint had  given  way  at  last. 

'Thee  remembers  what   I   said  that  night?"   David 
repeated  slowly. 

"I  remember — I  understand.  You  devise  your  course 
and  you  never  change.  It  is  like  building  on  a  rock. 
That  is  why  nothing  happens  to  you  as  bad  as  might 
happen." 

"Nothing  bad  ever  happens  to  me." 

245 


THE    WEAVERS 

'The  philosophy  of  the  desert,"  she  commented,  smil- 
ing. "You  are  living  in  the  desert  even  when  you  are 
here.  This  is  a  dream,  the  desert  and  Egypt  only  are 
real." 

"That  is  true,  I  think.  I  seem  sometimes  like  a  so- 
journer here,  like  a  spirit  'revisiting  the  scenes  of  life  and 
time!'"     He  laughed  boyishly. 

'Yet  you  are  happy  here.  I  understand  now  why 
and  how  you  are  what  you  are.  Even  I  that  have  been 
here  so  short  a  time  feel  the  influence  upon  me.  I 
breathe  an  air  that,  somehow,  seems  a  native  air.  The 
spirit  of  my  Quaker  grandmother  revives  in  me.  Some- 
times I  sit  hours  thinking,  scarcely  stirring;  and  I  be- 
lieve I  know  now  how  people  might  speak  to  each  other 
without  words.  Your  Uncle  Benn  and  you — it  was  so 
with  you,  was  it  not  ?  You  heard  his  voice  speaking  to 
you  sometimes,  you  understood  what  he  meant  to  say  to 
you?     You  told  me  so,  long  ago." 

David  inclined  his  head.  "I  heard  him  speak  as  one 
might  speak  through  a  closed  door.  Sometimes,  too,  in 
the  desert  I  have  heard  Faith  speak  to  me." 

"And  your  grandfather?" 

"Never  my  grandfather — never.  It  would  seem  as 
though,  in  my  thoughts,  I  could  never  reach  him;  as 
though  masses  of  opaque  things  lay  between.  Yet  he 
and  I — there  is  love  between  us.  I  don't  know  why  I 
never  hear  him." 

"Tell  me  of  your  childhood,  of  your  mother.  I  have 
seen  her  grave  under  the  ash  by  the  Meeting-house,  but  I 
want  to  know  of  her  from  you." 

"Has  not  Faith  told  you?" 

"We  have  only  talked  of  the  present.  I  could  not 
ask  her;  but  I  can  ask  you.  I  want  to  know  of  your 
mother  and  you  together." 

'We  were  never  together.  When  I  opened  my  eyes 
she  closed  hers.     It  was  so  little  to  get  for  the  life  she 

246 


THE    WEAVERS 

gave.  See,  was  it  not  a  good  face  ?"  He  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  little  locket  which  Faith  had  given  him  years 
ago,  and  opened  it  before  her. 

Hylda  looked  long.  "She  was  exquisite,"  she  said, 
"exquisite." 

"My  father  I  never  knew  either.  He  was  a  captain 
of  a  merchant  ship.  He  married  her  secretly  while  she 
was  staying  with  an  aunt  at  Portsmouth.  He  sailed 
away,  my  mother  told  my  grandfather  all,  and  he  brought 
her  home  here.  The  marriage  was  regular,  of  course, 
but  my  grandfather,  after  announcing  it,  and  bringing  it 
before  the  Elders,  declared  that  she  should  never  see  her 
husband  again.  She  never  did,  for  she  died  a  few  months 
after,  when  I  came,  and  my  father  died  very  soon  also. 
I  never  saw  him,  and  I  do  not  know  if  he  ever  tried  to  see 
me.  I  never  had  any  feeling  about  it.  My  grandfather 
was  the  only  father  I  ever  knew,  and  Faith,  who  was  born 
a  year  before  me,  became  like  a  sister  to  me,  though  she 
soon  made  other  pretensions!"  He  laughed  again,  al- 
most happily.  "To  gain  an  end  she  exercised  author- 
ity as  my  aunt!" 

"What  was  your  father's  name?" 

"Fetherdon — James  Fetherdon." 

"  Fetherdon — James  Fetherdon !"  Involuntarily  Hylda 
repeated  the  name  after  him.  Where  had  she  heard 
the  name  before  —  or  where  had  she  seen  it?  It  kept 
flashing  before  her  eyes.  Where  had  she  seen  it  ?  For 
days  she  had  been  rummaging  among  old  papers  in 
the  library  of  the  Cloistered  House,  and  in  an  old  box 
full  of  correspondence  and  papers  of  the  late  countess, 
who  had  died  suddenly.  Was  it  among  them  that  she 
had  seen  the  name  ?  She  could  not  tell.  It  was  all 
vague,  but  that  she  had  seen  it  or  heard  it  she  was 
sure. 

'Your  father's  people,  you  never  knew  them?" 

He  shook  his  head.     "Nor  of  them.     Here  was  my 

247 


THE    WEAVERS 

home — I  had  no  desire  to  discover  them.  We  draw  in 
upon  ourselves  here." 

"There  is  great  force  in  such  a  life  and  such  a  people," 
she  answered.  ' '  If  the  same  concentration  of  mind  could 
be  carried  into  the  wide  life  of  the  world,  we  might  revolu- 
tionize civilization,  or  vitalize  and  advance  it,  I  mean 
— as  you  are  doing  in  Egypt." 

"I  have  done  nothing  in  Egypt.  I  have  sounded  the 
bugle — I  have  not  had  my  fight." 

"That  is  true  in  a  sense,"  she  replied.  "Your  real 
struggle  is  before  you.  I  do  not  know  why  I  say  it,  but 
I  do  say  it;  I  feel  it.  Something  here" — she  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  heart — "something  here  tells  me  that 
your  day  of  battle  is  yet  to  come."  Her  eyes  were  brim- 
ming and  full  of  excitement.  "We  must  all  help  you." 
She  gained  courage  with  each  word.  "You  must  not 
fight  alone.  You  work  for  civilization ;  you  must  have 
civilization  behind  you."  Her  hands  clasped  nervously ; 
there  was  a  catch  in  her  throat.  "You  remember — then, 
that  I  said  I  would  call  to  you  one  day,  as  your  Uncle 
Benn  did,  and  you  should  hear  and  answer  me.  It  shall 
not  be  that  I  will  call.  You — you  will  call,  and  I  will 
help  you  if  I  can!  I  will  help,  no  matter  what  may  seem 
to  prevent,  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do.  I,  surely  I, 
of  all  the  world  owe  it  to  you  to  do  what  I  can,  always. 
I  owe  so  much — you  did  so  much.  Oh,  how  it  haunts 
me!  Sometimes  in  the  night  I  wake  with  a  start  and 
see  it  all — all!" 

The  flood  which  had  been  dyked  back  these  years  past 
had  broken  loose  in  her  heart. 

Out  of  the  stir  and  sweep  of  social  life  and  duty,  of 
official  and  political  ambition — heart-hungry,  for  she  had 
no  child;  heart-lonely,  though  she  had  scarce  recog- 
nized it  in  the  duties  and  excitements  round  her — she 
had  floated  suddenly  into  this  backwater  of  a  motionless 
life  in   Hamley.     Its  quiet  had  settled  upon  her,  the 

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THE    WEAVERS 

shackles  of  her  spirit  had  been  loosed,  and  dropped  from 
her;  she  had  suddenly  bathed  her  heart  and  soul  in  a 
freer  atmosphere  than  they  had  ever  known  before.  And 
David  and  Hamley  had  come  together.  The  old  im- 
pulses, dominated  by  a  divine  altruism,  were  swinging  her 
out  upon  a  course  leading  she  knew  not,  recked  not, 
whither — for  the  moment  recked  not.  This  man's  career, 
the  work  he  was  set  to  do,  the  ideal  before  him,  the  vision 
of  a  land  redeemed,  captured  her,  carried  her  panting 
into  a  resolve,  which,  however  she  might  modify  her 
speech  or  action,  must  be  an  influence  in  her  life  here- 
after. Must  the  penance  and  the  redemption  be  his 
only?  This  life  he  lived  had  come  from  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her  and  to  him  in  Egypt.  In  a  deep  sense  her 
life  was  linked  with  his. 

In  a  flash  David  now  felt  the  deep  significance  of  their 
relations.  A  curtain  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been 
drawn  aside.  He  was  blinded  for  a  moment.  Her  sym- 
pathy, her  desire  to  help,  gave  him  a  new  sense  of  hope 
and  confidence,  but— but  there  was  no  room  in  his  cru- 
sade for  any  woman;  the  dear  egotism  of  a  life-dream 
was  masterful  in  him,  possessed  him. 

Yet,  if  ever  his  heart  might  have  dwelt  upon  a  wom- 
an with  thought  of  the  future,  this  being  before  him 
— he  drew  himself  up  with  a  start!  ...  He  was  going  to 
Egypt  again  in  a  few  days ;  they  might  probably  never 
meet  again  —  would  not,  no  doubt  —  should  not.  He 
had  pressed  her  husband  to  go  to  Egypt,  but  now  he 
would  not  encourage  it;  he  must  "finish  his  journey 
alone." 

He  looked  again  in  her  eyes,  and  their  light  and  beauty 
held  him.  His  own  eyes  swam.  The  exaltation  of  a 
great  idea  was  upon  them,  was  a  bond  of  fate  between 
them.  It  was  a  moment  of  peril  not  fully  realized  by 
either.  David  did  realize,  however,  that  she  was  beau- 
tiful beyond  all  women  he  had  ever  seen — or  was  he  now 

249 


THE    WEAVERS 

for  the  first  time  really  aware  of  the  beauty  of  woman  ? 
She  had  an  expression,  a  light  of  eye  and  face,  finely 
alluring  beyond  mere  outline  of  feature.  Yet  the  features 
were  there,  too,  regular  and  fine;  and  her  brown  hair, 
waving  away  from  her  broad,  white  forehead  over  eyes 
a  grayish  violet  in  color,  gave  her  a  classic  distinction. 
In  the  quietness  of  the  face  there  was  that  strain  of  the 
Quaker,  descending  to  her  through  three  generations, 
yet  enlivened  by  a  mind  of  impulse  and  genius. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  in 
which  both  had  taken  a  long  step  forward  in  life's  ex- 
perience. But  presently  his  eyes  looked  beyond  her, 
as  though  at  something  that  fascinated  them. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?  What  do  you  see?"  she 
asked. 

"You,  leaving  the  garden  of  my  house  in  Cairo,  I 
standing  by  the  fire,"  he  answered,  closing  his  eyes  for 
an  instant. 

"It  is  what  I  saw  also,"  she  said  breathlessly.  "It 
is  what  I  saw  and  was  thinking  of  that  instant."  When, 
as  though  she  must  break  away  from  the  cords  of  feeling- 
drawing  her  nearer  and  nearer  to  him,  she  said  with  a 
little  laugh,  "Tell  me  again  of  my  Chicago  cousin?  I 
have  not  had  a  letter  for  a  year." 

"Lacey,  he  is  with  me  always.  I  should  have  done 
little  had  it  not  been  for  him.  He  has  remarkable  re- 
source; he  is  never  cast  down.     He  had  but  one  fault." 

"What  is  that?" 

"He  is  no  respecter  of  persons.  His  humor  cuts  deep. 
He  has  a  wide  heart  for  your  sex.  When  leaving  the 
court  of  the  King  of  Abyssinia  he  said  to  his  Majesty, 
'Well,  good-bye,  King.     Give  my  love  to  the  girls." 

She  laughed  again.  "How  absurd  and  childish  he  is! 
But  he  is  true.  And  how  glad  you  should  be  that  you 
are  able  to  make  true  friends,  without  an  effort.  Yester- 
day I  met  neighbor  Fairley,  and  another  little  old  Elder 

250 


TH  E    WEAVERS 

who  keeps  his  chin  in  his  collar  and  his  eyes  on  the  sky. 
They  did  little  else  but  sing  your  praises.  One  might 
have  thought  that  you  had  invented  the  world  —  or 
Hamley." 

"Yet  they  would  chafe  if  I  were  to  appear  among 
them  without  these."  He  glanced  down  at  the  Quaker 
clothes  he  wore,  and  made  a  gesture  towards  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat  reposing  on  a  footstool  near  by. 

"It  is  good  to  see  that  you  are  not  changed,  not 
spoiled  at  all,"  she  remarked  smiling.  'Though,  indeed, 
how  could  you  be,  who  always  work  for  others  and  never 
for  yourself  ?  All  I  envy  you  is  your  friends.  You  make 
them — and  keep  them  so!" 

She  sighed,  and  a  shadow  came  into  her  eyes  suddenly. 
She  was  thinking  of  Eglington.  Did  he  make  friends — 
true  friends  ?  In  London — was  there  one  she  knew  who 
would  cleave  to  him  for  love  of  him  ?  In  England — had 
she  ever  seen  one?  In  Hamley,  where  his  people  had 
been  for  so  many  generations,  had  she  found  one  ? 

Herself?  Yes,  she  was  his  true  friend.  She  would 
do — what  would  she  not  do  to  help  him,  to  serve  his  in- 
terests? What  had  she  not  done  since  she  married! 
Her  fortune,  it  was  his;  her  every  waking  hour  had  been 
filled  with  something  devised  to  help  him  on  his  way. 
Had  he  ever  said  to  her,  "  Hylda,  you  are  a  help  to  me"  ? 
He  had  admired  her — but  was  he  singular  in  that  ?  Be- 
fore she  married  there  were  many — since,  there  had  been 
many — who  had  shown,  some  with  tact  and  carefulness, 
others  with  a  crudeness  making  her  shudder,  that  they 
admired  her;  and,  if  they  might,  would  have  given  their 
admiration  another  name  with  other  manifestations. 
Had  she  repelled  it  all?  She  had  been  too  sure  of  her- 
self to  draw  her  skirts  about  her;  she  was  too  proud  to 
let  any  man  put  her  at  any  disadvantage.  She  had 
been  safe,  because  her  heart  had  been  untouched.  The 
Duchess  of  Snowdon,  once  beautiful,  but  now  with  a 

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THE    WEAVERS 

face  like  a  mask,  enamelled  and  rouged  and  lifeless,  had 
said  to  her  once,  "My  dear,  I  ought  to  have  died  at 
thirty.  When  I  was  twenty-three  I  wanted  to  squeeze 
the  orange  dry  in  a  handful  of  years,  and  then  go  out 
suddenly,  and  let  the  dust  of  forgetfulness  cover  my 
bones.  I  had  one  child,  a  boy,  and  would  have  no 
more;  and  I  squeezed  the  orange!  But  I  didn't  go  at 
thirty,  and  yet  the  orange  was  dry.  My  boy  died;  and 
you  see  what  I  am — a  fright,  I  know  it;  and  I  dress  like 
a  child  of  twenty;  and  I  can't  help  it!" 

There  had  been  moments,  once,  when  Hylda  too  had 
wished  to  squeeze  the  orange  dry,  but  something  behind, 
calling  to  her,  had  held  her  back.  She  had  dropped  her 
anchor  in  perilous  seas,  but  it  had  never  dragged. 

"Tell  me  how  to  make  friends  —  and  keep  them," 
she  added  gayly. 

"If  it  be  true  I  make  friends,  thee  taught  me  how," 
he  answered,  "for  thee  made  me  a  friend,  and  I  forget 
not  the  lesson." 

She  smiled.  'Thee  has  learnt  another  lesson  too 
well!"  she  answered  brightly.  "Thee  must  not  flatter. 
It  is  not  that  which  makes  thee  keep  friends.  Thee  sees 
I  also  am  speaking  as  they  do  in  Hamley — am  I  not 
bold?     I  love  grammar  less  speech." 

'Then  use  it  freely  to-day,  for  this  is  farewell,"  he 
answered,  not  looking  at  her. 

"This — is — farewell,"  she  said  slowly,  vaguely.  Why 
should  it  startle  her  so?  "You  are  going  so  soon — 
where?" 

"To-morrow  to  London,  next  week  to  Egypt." 

She  laid  a  hand  upon  herself,  for  her  heart  was  beat- 
ing violently.  "Thee  is  not  fair  to  give  no  warning — 
there  is  so  much  to  say,"  she  said  in  so  low  a  tone  that 
he  could  scarcely  hear  her.  "There  is  the  future,  your 
work,  what  we  are  to  do  here  to  help.  What  am  I  to 
do?" 

252 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Thee  will  always  be  a  friend  to  Egypt,  I  know,"  he 
answered.  "She  needs  friends.  Thee  has  a  place  where 
thee  indeed  can  help." 

"Will  not  right  be  done  without  my  voice  ?"  she  asked, 
her  eyes  half  closing.  "There  is  the  Foreign  Office, 
and  English  policy,  and  the  ministers,  and — and  Egling- 
ton.     What  need  of  me?" 

He  saw  the  thought  had  flashed  into  her  mind  that 
he  did  not  trust  her  husband.  "Thee  knows  and  cares 
for  Egypt,  and  knowing  and  caring  make  policy  easier 
to  frame,"  he  rejoined. 

Suddenly  a  wave  of  feeling  went  over  her.  He  whose 
life  had  been  flung  into  this  field  of  labor  by  an  act  of 
her  own,  who  should  help  him  but  herself? 

But  it  all  baffled  her,  hurt  her,  shook  her.  She  was 
not  free  to  help  as  she  wished.  Her  life  belonged  to 
another;  and  he  exacted  the  payment  of  tribute  to  the 
uttermost  farthing.  She  was  blinded  by  the  thought. 
Yet  she  must  speak.  "I  will  come  to  Egypt — we  will 
come  to  Egypt,"  she  said  quickly.  "Eglington  shall 
know,  too;  he  shall  understand.  You  shall  have  his 
help.     You  shall  not  work  alone." 

'Thee  can  work  here,"  he  said.  "It  may  not  be  easy 
for  Lord  Eglington  to  come." 

"You  pressed  it  on  him." 

Their  eyes  met.  She  suddenly  saw  what  was  in  his  mind. 
'You  know  best  what  will  help  you  most,"  she  added 
gently. 

"You  will  not  come?"  he  asked. 

"I  will  not  say  I  will  not  come — not  ever,"  she  an- 
swered firmly.  "It  may  be  I  should  have  to  come." 
Resolution  was  in  her  eyes.  She  was  thinking  of  Na- 
houm.  "I  may  have  to  come,"  she  added  after  a  pause, 
"to  do  right  by  you." 

He  read  her  meaning.  "Thee  will  never  come,"  he 
continued  confidently.     He  held  out  his  hand. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"Perhaps  I  shall  see  you  in  town,"  she  rejoined,  as 
her  hand  rested  in  his,  and  she  looked  away.  "When 
do  you  start  for  Egypt?" 

"To-morrow  week,  I  think,"  he  answered.  "There 
is  much  to  do." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  meet  in  town,"  she  repeated.  But 
they  both  knew  they  would  not. 

"Farewell,"  he  said,  and  picked  up  his  hat. 

As  he  turned  again,  the  look  in  her  eyes  brought  the 
blood  to  his  face,  then  it  became  pale.  A  new  force  had 
come  into  his  life. 

"God  be  good  to  thee,"  he  said,  and  turned  away. 

She  watched  him  leave  the  room  and  pass  through  the 
garden. 

"David!     David!"  she  said  softly  after  him. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  room  her  husband,  who  had 
just  entered,  watched  her.  He  heard  her  voice,  but  did 
not  hear  what  she  said. 

"Come,  Hylda,  and  have  some  music,"  he  said 
brusquely. 

She  scrutinized  him  calmly.  His  face  showed  nothing. 
His  look  was  enigmatical. 

"Chopin  is  the  thing  for  me,"  he  said,  and  opened  the 
piano. 


XXII 

AS    IN    A    GLASS    DARKLY 

It  was  very  quiet  and  cool  in  the  Quaker  Meeting- 
house, though  outside  there  was  the  rustle  of  leaves, 
the  low  din  of  the  bees,  the  whistle  of  a  bird,  or  the  even 
tread  of  horses'  hoofs  as  they  journeyed  on  the  London 
road.  The  place  was  full.  For  a  half -hour  the  wor- 
shippers had  sat  voiceless.  They  were  waiting  for  the 
spirit  to  move  some  one  to  speak.  As  they  waited,  a 
lady  entered  and  glided  into  a  seat.  Few  saw,  and  these 
gave  no  indication  of  surprise,  though  they  were  little 
used  to  strangers,  and  none  of  the  name  borne  by  this 
lady  had  entered  the  building  for  many  years.  It  was 
Hylda. 

At  last  the  silence  was  broken.  The  wizened  Elder, 
with  eyes  upon  the  ceiling  and  his  long  white  chin  like 
ivory  on  his  great  collar,  began  to  pray,  sitting  where 
he  was,  his  hands  upon  his  knees.  '  He  prayed  for  all  who 
wandered  "into  by  and  forbidden  paths."  He  prayed 
for  one  whose  work  was  as  that  of  Joseph,  son  of  Jacob; 
whose  footsteps  were  now  upon  the  sea,  and  now  upon 
the  desert;  whose  way  was  set  among  strange  gods  and 
divers  heresies — '"For  there  must  also  be  heresies,  that 
they  which  are  approved  may  be  made  manifest  among 
the  weak.'"  A  moment  more,  and  then  he  added:  "He 
hath  been  tried  beyond  his  years;  do  Thou  uphold  his 
hands.  Once  with  a  goad  did  we  urge  him  on,  when  in 
ease  and  sloth  he  was  among  us,  but  now  he  spurrcth 

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THE    WEAVERS 

on  his  spirit  and  body  in  too  great  haste.  O  put  Thy 
hand  upon  the  bridle,  Lord,  that  he  ride  soberly  upon 
Thy  business." 

There  was  a  longer  silence  now,  but  at  last  came  the 
voice  of  Luke  Claridge. 

"Father  of  the  fatherless,"  he  said,  "my  days  are  as 
the  sands  in  the  hour-glass  hastening  to  their  rest;  and 
my  place  will  soon  be  empty.  He  goeth  far,  and  I  may 
not  go  with  him.  He  fighteth  alone,  like  him  that  strove 
with  wild  beasts  at  Ephesus ;  do  Thou  uphold  him  that  he 
may  bring  a  nation  captive.  And  if  a  viper  fasten  on  his 
hand,  as  chanced  to  Paul  of  old,  give  him  grace  to  strike 
it  off  without  hurt.  O  Lord,  he  is  to  me,  Thy  servant,  as 
the  one  ewe  lamb,  let  him  be  Thine  when  Thou  gatherest 
for  Thy  vineyard!" 

''And  if  a  viper  fasten  on  his  hand — /"  David  passed 
his  hand  across  his  forehead  and  closed  his  eyes.  The 
beasts  at  Ephesus  he  had  fought,  and  he  would  fight 
them  again  —  there  was  fighting  enough  to  do  in  the 
land  of  Egypt.  And  the  viper  would  fasten  on  his  hand 
— it  had  fastened  on  his  hand,  and  he  had  struck  it  off; 
but  it  would  come  again,  the  dark  thing  against  which  he 
had  fought  in  the  desert. 

Their  prayers  had  unnerved  him,  had  got  into  that 
corner  of  his  nature  where  youth  and  its  irresponsibil- 
ity loitered  yet.  For  a  moment  he  was  shaken,  and  then 
looking  into  the  faces  of  the  Elders,  said,  "Friends,  I 
go  again  upon  paths  that  lead  into  the  wilderness.  I 
know  not  if  I  ever  shall  return.  Howsoe'er  that  may 
be,  I  shall  walk  with  firmer  step  because  of  all  ye  do 
for  me." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  prayed:  "O  God,  I  go  into 
the  land  of  ancient  plagues  and  present  pestilence.  If 
it  be  Thy  will,  bring  me  home  to  this  good  land,  when 
my  task  is  done.  If  not,  by  Thy  goodness  let  me  be  as 
a  stone  set  by  the  wayside  for  others  who  come  after; 

256 


SHE     WATCHl.D     HIM     l'ASS    THROUGH     THE     GARDEN 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  save  me  from  the  beast  and  from  the  viper.  '  Thou 
art  faithful,  who  wilt  not  suffer  us  to  be  tempted  above  that 
we  are  able;  but  wilt  with  the  temptation  also  make  a  way 
of  escape,  that  we  may  be  able  to  bear  it!'  " 

He  sat  down,  and  all  grew  silent  again;  but  suddenly- 
some  one  sobbed  aloud — sobbed,  and  strove  to  stay  the 
sobbing,  and  could  not,  and,  getting  up,  hastened  tow- 
ards the  door. 

It  was  Faith.  David  heard,  and  came  quickly  after 
her.  As  he  took  her  arm  gently,  his  eyes  met  those  of 
Hylda.     She  rose  and  came  out  also. 

"Will  thee  take  her  home?"  he  said  huskily.  "I  can 
bear  no  more." 

Hylda  placed  her  arm  round  Faith,  and  led  her  out 
under  the  trees  and  into  the  wood.  As  they  went,  Faith 
looked  back. 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me,  Davy,"  she  said  softly. 

Three  lights  burned  in  Hamley:  one  in  the  Red  Man- 
sion, one  in  the  Cloistered  House,  and  one  in  Soolsby's  hut 
upon  the  hill.  In  the  Red  Mansion  old  Luke  Claridge, 
his  face  pale  with  feeling,  his  white  hair  tumbling  about, 
his  head  thrust  forward,  his  eyes  shining,  sat  listening, 
as  Faith  read  aloud  letters  which  Benn  Claridge  had 
written  from  the  East  many  years  before.  One  letter, 
written  from  Bagdad,  he  made  her  read  twice.  The  faded 
sheet  had  in  it  the  glow  and  glamour  of  the  East;  it 
was  like  a  heart  beating  with  life ;  emotion  rose  and  fell 
in  it  like  the  waves  of  the  sea.  Once  the  old  man  in- 
terrupted Faith. 

"Davy — it  is  as  though  Davy  spoke.  It  is  like  Davy 
— both  Claridge,  both  Claridge,"  he  said.  "But  is  it 
not  like  Davy?  Davy  is  doing  what  it  was  in  Benn's 
heart  to  do.  Benn  showed  the  way;  Benn  called,  and 
Davy  came." 

He  laid  both  hands  upon  his  knees  and  raised  his 

257 


THE    WEAVERS 

eyes.  "O  Lord,  I  have  sought  to  do  according  to  Thy 
will,"  he  whispered.  He  was  thinking  of  a  thing  he  had 
long  hidden.  Through  many  years  he  had  had  no  doubt, 
no  qualm;  but,  since  David  had  gone  to  Egypt,  some 
spirit  of  unquiet  had  worked  in  him.  He  had  acted  against 
the  prayer  of  his  own  wife,  lying  in  her  grave — a  quiet- 
faced  woman,  who  had  never  crossed  him,  who  had 
never  shown  a  note  of  passion  in  all  her  life,  save  in 
one  thing  concerning  David.  Upon  it,  like  some  proph- 
etess, she  had  flamed  out.  With  the  insight  which 
only  women  have  where  children  are  concerned,  she 
had  told  him  that  he  would  live  to  repent  of  what  he 
had  done.  She  had  died  soon  after,  and  was  laid  beside 
the  deserted  young  mother,  whose  days  had  budded 
and  blossomed,  and  fallen  like  petals  to  the  ground, 
while  yet  it  was  the  spring. 

Luke  Claridge  had  understood  neither,  not  his  wife 
when  she  had  said,  "Thee  should  let  the  Lord  do  His 
own  work,  Luke,"  nor  his  dying  daughter  Mercy,  whose 
last  words  had  been,  "With  love  and  sorrow  I  have 
sowed;  he  shall  reap  rejoicing — -my  babe.  Thee  will 
set  him  in  the  garden  in  the  sun,  where  God  may  find 
him — God  will  not  pass  him  by.  He  will  take  him  by 
the  hand  and  lead  him  home."  The  old  man  had 
thought  her  touched  by  delirium  then,  though  her  words 
were  but  the  parable  of  a  mind  fed  by  the  poetry  of 
life,  by  a  shy  spirit,  to  which  meditation  gave  fancy  and 
far-seeing.  David  had  come  by  his  idealism  honestly. 
The  half -mystical  spirit  of  his  Uncle  Benn  had  flowed 
on  to  another  generation  through  the  filter  of  a  woman's 
sad  soul.  It  had  come  to  David  a  pure  force,  a  construc- 
tive and  practical  idealism. 

Now,  as  Faith  read,  there  were  ringing  in  the  old 
man's  ears  the  words  which  David's  mother  had  said 
before  she  closed  her  eyes  and  passed  away:  "Set  him 
in  the  garden  in  the  sun,  where  God  may  find  him — God 

258 


THE    WEAVERS 

will  not  pass  him  by."  They  seemed  to  weave  them- 
selves into  the  symbolism  of  Benn  Claridge's  letter, 
written  from  the  hills  of  Bagdad. 

"But,"  the  letter  continued,  "the  Governor  passed 
by  with  his  suite,  the  buckles  of  the  harness  of  his  horses 
all  silver,  his  carriage  shining  with  inlay  of  gold,  his 
turban  full  of  precious  stones.  When  he  had  passed,  I 
said  to  a  shepherd  standing  by,  'If  thou  hadst  all  his 
wealth,  shepherd,  what  wouldst  thou  do  ?'  and  he  an- 
swered, 'If  I  had  his  wealth,  I  would  sit  on  the  south 
side  of  my  house  in  the  sun  all  day  and  every  day.' 
To  a  messenger  of  the  Palace,  who  must  ever  be  ready 
night  and  day  to  run  at  his  master's  order,  I  asked 
the  same.  He  replied,  'If  I  had  all  the  Effendina's 
wealth,  I  would  sleep  till  I  died.'  To  a  blind  beggar, 
shaking  the  copper  in  his  cup  in  the  highways,  pleading 
dumbly  to  those  who  passed,  I  made  similar  inquisition, 
and  he  replied,  'If  the  wealth  of  the  exalted  one  were 
mine,  I  would  sit  on  the  mastaba  by  the  bakehouse, 
and  eat  three  times  a  day,  save  at  Ramadan,  when  I 
would  bless  Allah  the  compassionate  and  merciful,  and 
breakfast  at  sunset,  with  the  flesh  of  a  kid  and  a  bowl 
of  wine.'  To  a  woman  at  the  door  of  a  tomb  hung 
with  relics  of  hundreds  of  poor  souls  in  misery,  who 
besought  the  buried  saint  to  intercede  for  her  with 
Allah,  I  made  the  same  catechism,  and  she  answered, 
'Oh,  effendi,  if  his  wealth  were  mine,  I  would  give  my 
son  what  he  has  lost.'  'What  has  he  lost,  woman?' 
said  I;  and  she  answered,  'A  little  house  with  a  garden, 
and  a  flock  of  ten  goats,  a  cow  and  a  dovecote,  his  in- 
heritance of  which  he  has  been  despoiled  by  one  who 
carried  a  false  debt  'gainst  his  dead  father.  And  I  said 
to  her,  '  But  if  thy  wealth  were  as  that  of  the  ruler  of 
the  city,  thy  son  would  have  no  need  of  the  little  house 
and  garden  and  the  flock  of  goats,  and  a  cow  and  a 
dovecote.'     Whereupon  she  turned  upon  me  in  bitter- 

259 


THE    WEAVERS 

ness,  and  said:  '  Were  they  not  his  own  as  the  seed  of 
his  father?  Shall  not  one  cherish  that  which  is  his 
own,  which  cometh  from  seed  to  seed?  Is  it  not  the 
law?'  'But,'  said  I,  'if  his  wealth  were  thine,  there 
would  be  herds  of  cattle,  and  flocks  of  sheep,  and  car- 
pets spread,  and  the  banquet-tables,  and  great  orchards.' 
But  she  stubbornly  shook  her  head.  'Where  the  eagle 
built  shall  not  the  young  eagle  nest?  How  should 
God  meet  me  in  the  way  and  bless  him  who  stood  not 
by  his  birthright  ?  The  plot  of  ground  was  the  lad's, 
and  all  that  is  thereon.  I  pray  thee,  mock  me  not!' 
God  knows  I  did  not  mock  her,  for  her  words  were  wis- 
dom. So  did  it  work  upon  me  that,  after  many  days, 
I  got  for  the  lad  his  own  again,  and  there  he  is  happier, 
and  his  mother  happier,  than  the  Governor  in  his  pal- 
ace. Later  I  did  learn  some  truths  from  the  shepherd, 
the  messenger,  and  the  beggar,  and  the  woman  with  the 
child;  but  chiefly  from  the  woman  and  the  child.  The 
material  value  has  no  relation  to  the  value  each  sets 
upon  that  which  is  his  own.  Behind  this  feeling  lies 
the  strength  of  the  world.  Here  on  this  hill  of  Bagdad 
I  am  thinking  these  things.  And,  Luke,  I  would  have 
thee  also  think  on  my  story  of  the  woman  and  the  child. 
There  is  in  it  a  lesson  for  thee." 

When  Luke  Claridge  first  read  this  letter  years  before, 
he  had  put  it  from  him  sternly.  Now  he  heard  it  with 
a  soft  emotion.  He  took  the  letter  from  Faith  at  last, 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  With  no  apparent  relevancy, 
and  laying  his  hand  on  Faith's  shoulder,  he  said: 

"We  have  done  according  to  our  conscience  by  Davy 
— God  is  our  witness,  so!" 

She  leaned  her  cheek  against  his  hand,  but  did  not 
speak. 

In  Soolsby's  hut  upon  the  hill  David  sat  talking  to  the 
old   chairmaker.     Since   his  return  he  had  visited  the 

260 


THE    WEAVERS 

place  several  times,  only  to  find  Soolsby  absent.  The 
old  man,  on  awaking  from  his  drunken  sleep,  had  been 
visited  by  a  terrible  remorse,  and,  whenever  he  had 
seen  David  coming,  had  fled  into  the  woods.  This  even- 
ing, however,  David  came  in  the  dark,  and  Soolsby  was 
caught. 

When  David  entered  first,  the  old  man  broke  down. 
He  could  not  speak,  but  leaned  upon  the  back  of  a 
chair,  and  though  his  lips  moved,  no  sound  came  forth. 
But  David  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  set  him  down, 
and  laughed  gently  in  his  face,  and  at  last  Soolsby  got 
voice  and  said: 

"Egyptian!     O  Egyptian!" 

Then  his  tongue  was  loosened  and  his  eye  glistened, 
and  he  poured  out  question  after  question,  many  per- 
tinent, some  whimsical,  all  frankly  answered  by  David. 
But  suddenly  he  stopped  short,  and  his  eyes  sank  before 
the  other,  who  had  laid  a  hand  upon  his  knee. 

"Oh,  don't,  Egyptian,  don't!  Don't  have  aught  to 
do  with  me.  I'm  only  a  drunken  swine.  I  kept  sober 
four  years,  as  she  knows — as  the  Angel  down  yonder  in 
the  Red  Mansion  knows;  but  the  day  you  came,  going 
out  to  meet  you,  I  got  drunk  —  blind  drunk.  I  had 
only  been  pretending  al  the  time.  I  was  being  coaxed 
along — made  believe  I  was  a  real  man,  I  suppose.  But 
I  wasn't.  I  was  a  pillar  of  sand.  When  pressure  came 
I  just  broke  down — broke  down,  Egyptian.  Don't  be 
surprised  if  you  hear  me  grunt.  It's  my  natural  speech. 
I'm  a  hog,  a  drink-swilling  hog.  I  wasn't  decent  enough 
to  stay  sober  till  you  had  said  'Good  day,'  and  'How 
goes  it,  Soolsby  ?'  I  tried  it  on ;  it  was  no  good.  I  began 
to  live  like  a  man,  but  I've  slipped  back  into  the  ditch. 
You  didn't  know  that,  did  you?" 

David  let  him  have  his  say,  and  then  in  a  low  voice 
said,  "Yes,  I  knew  thee  had  been  drinking,  Soolsby." 

He  started.     "She  told  you — Kate  Heaver — " 

261 


THE    WEAVERS 

"She  did  not  tell  me.  I  came  and  found  you  here 
with  her.     You  were  asleep." 

"A  drunken  sweep!"  He  spat  upon  the  ground  in  dis- 
gust at  himself. 

"I  ought  never  have  come  back  here,"  he  added. 
"It  was  no  place  for  me.  But  it  drew  me.  I  didn't 
belong;  but  it  drew  me." 

"Thee  belongs  to  Hamley.  Thee  is  an  honor  to  Ham- 
ley,  Soolsby." 

Soolsby's  eyes  widened ;  the  blurred  look  of  rage  and 
self-reproach  in  them  began  to  fade  away. 

"Thee  has  made  a  fight,  Soolsby,  to  conquer  a  thing 
that  has  had  thee  by  the  throat.  There's  no  fighting 
like  it.  It  means  a  watching  every  hour,  every  minute 
— thee  can  never  take  the  eye  off  it.  Some  days  it's 
easy,  some  days  it's  hard,  but  it's  never  so  easy  that 
you  can  say,  'There  is  no  need  to  watch.'  In  sleep  it 
whispers  and  wakes  you;  in  the  morning,  when  there  are 
no  shadows,  it  casts  a  shadow  on  the  path.  It  comes 
between  you  and  your  work;  you  see  it  looking  out  of 
the  eyes  of  a  friend.  And  one  day,  when  you  think  it 
has  been  conquered,  that  you  have  worn  it  down  into 
oblivion  and  the  dust,  and  you  close  your  eyes  and  say, 
'I  am  master,'  up  it  springs  with  fury  from  nowhere  you 
can  see,  and  catches  you  by  the  throat;  and  the  fight 
begins  again.  But  you  sit  stronger,  and  the  fight  be- 
comes shorter;  and  after  many  battles,  and  you  have 
learned  never  to  be  off  guard,  to  know  by  instinct  where 
every  ambush  is,  then  at  last  the  victory  is  yours.  But 
it  is  hard,  it  is  bitter,  and  sometimes  it  seems  hardly 
worth  the  struggle!  But  it  is — it  is  worth  the  struggle, 
dear  old  man." 

Soolsby  dropped  on  his  knees  and  caught  David  by 
the  arms.  "How  did  you  know — how  did  you  know?" 
he  asked  hoarsely.  "It's  been  just  as  you  say.  You've 
watched  some  one  fighting?" 

262 


THE    WEAVERS 

"I  have  watched  some  one  fighting  —  fighting,"  an- 
swered David  clearly,  but  his  eyes  were  moist. 

"With  drink,  the  same  as  me?" 

"No,  with  opium — laudanum." 

"Oh,  I've  heard  that's  worse,  that  it  makes  you  mad, 
the  wanting  it." 

"I  have  seen  it  so." 

"Did  the  man  break  down  like  me?" 

"Only  once,  but  the  fight  is  not  yet  over  with  him." 

"Was  he — an  Englishman?" 

David  inclined  his  head.  "It's  a  great  thing  to  have 
a  temptation  to  fight,  Soolsby.  Then  we  can  understand 
others." 

"It's  not  always  true,  Egyptian,  for  you  have  never 
had  temptation  to  fight.     Yet  you  know  it  all." 

"God  has  been  good  to  me,"  David  answered,  putting 
a  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder.  "And  thee  is  a  credit 
to  Hamley,  friend.     Thee  will  never  fall  again." 

"You  know  that  —  you  say  that  to  me!  Then,  by 
Mary  the  mother  of  God,  I  never  will  be  a  swine  again," 
he  said,  getting  to  his  feet. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Soolsby.  I  go  to-morrow,"  David 
said  presently. 

Soolsby  frowned;  his  lips  worked.  "When  will  you 
come  back?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

David  smiled.  "There  is  so  much  to  do,  they  may 
not  let  me  come — not  soon.  I  am  going  into  the  desert 
again." 

Soolsby  was  shaking.  He  spoke  huskily.  "Here  is 
your  place,"  he  said.  "You  shall  come  back —  Oh, 
but  you  shall  come  back,  here,  where  you  belong." 

David  shook  his  head  and  smiled,  and  clasped  the 
strong  hand  again.     A  moment  later  he  was  gone. 

From  the  door  of  the  hut  Soolsby  muttered  to  him- 
self: 

"I  will  bring  you  back.    If  Luke  Claridge  doesn't, then 
18  263 


THE    WEAVERS 

I  will  bring  you  back.     If  he  dies,  I  will  bring  you — no, 
by  the  love  of  God,  I  will  bring  you  back  while  he  lives!" 

Two  thousand  miles  away,  in  a  Nile  village,  women 
sat    wailing    in    dark   doorways,  dust    on    their   heads, 
black  mantles  covering  their  faces.     By  the  pond  where 
all  the  people  drank,  performed  their  ablutions,  bathed 
their  bodies  and  rinsed  their  mouths,  sat    the    sheikh- 
el-beled,  the  village  chief,  taking  counsel  in  sorrow  with 
the  barber,  the  holy  man,  and  others.     Now  speaking, 
now  rocking   their   bodies  to    and  fro,  in  the  evening 
sunlight,  they  sat  and  watched  the  Nile  in  flood  cov- 
ering the  wide  wastes  of  the  Fayoum,  spreading  over 
the  land  rich  deposits  of  earth  from  the  mountains  of 
Abyssinia.     When  that  flood  subsided  there  would  be 
fields  to  be  planted  with  dourha  and  onions  and  sugar- 
cane; but  they  whose  strong  arms  should  plough  and 
sow  and  wield  the  sickle,  the  youth,  the  upstanding  ones, 
had  been  carried  off  in  chains  to  serve  in  the  army  of 
Egypt,  destined  for  the  far  Soudan,  for  hardship,  misery, 
and  death,  never  to  see  their  kindred  any  more.     Twice 
during    three    months    had    the    dread    servant    of   the 
Palace  come  and  driven  off  their  best  like  sheep  to  the 
slaughter.     The  brave,  the  stalwart,  the  bread-winners 
were  gone;  and  yet  the  tax-gatherer  would  come  and 
press   for  every   impost — -on  the  onion-field,  the  date- 
palm,  the  dourha-field,  and  the  clump  of  sugar-cane,  as 
though  the  young  men,  the  toilers,  were  still  there.    The 
old   and   infirm,   the   children,   the   women,   must   now 
double  and  treble  their  labor.     The  old  men  must  go  to 
the  corvee,  and  mend  the  banks  of  the  Nile  for  the  Prince 
and  his  pashas,  providing  their  own  food,  their  own  tools, 
their  own  housing,  if  housing  there  would  be — if  it  was 
more  than  sleeping  under  a  bush  by  the  riverside,  or 
crawling  into  a  hole  in  the  ground,  their  yeleks  their 
clothes  by  day,  their  only  covering  at  night. 

264 


THE    WEAVERS 

They  sat  like  men  without  hope,  yet  with  the  proud, 
bitter  mien  of  those  who  had  known  good  and  had  lost 
it,  had  seen  content  and  now  were  desolate. 

Presently  one — a  lad  —  the  youngest  of  them,  lifted 
up  his  voice  and  began  to  chant  a  recitative,  while  an- 
other took  a  small  drum  and  beat  it  in  unison.  He  was 
but  just  recovered  from  an  illness,  or  he  had  gone  also 
in  chains  to  die  for  he  knew  not  what,  leaving  behind 
without  hope  all  that  he  loved — 

"How  has  the  cloud  fallen,  and  the  leaf  withered  on  the  tree, 
The  lemon-tree,  that  standeth  by  the  door. 
The  melon  and  the  date  have  gone  bitter  to  the  taste, 
The  weevil,  it  has  eaten  at  the  core — 
The  core  of  my  heart,  the  mildew  findeth  it. 
My  music,  it  is  but  the  drip  of  tears, 
The  garner  empty  standeth,  the  oven  hath  no  fire, 
Night  filleth  me  with  fears. 

O  Nile  that  floweth  deeply,  hast  thou  not  heard  his  voice? 
His  footsteps  hast  thou  covered  with  thy  flood? 
He  was  as  one  who  lifteth  up  the  yoke, 
He  was  as  one  who  taketh  off  the  chain, 
As  one  who  sheltereth  from  the  rain, 
As  one  who  scattereth  bread  to  the  pigeons  flying. 
His  purse  was  at  his  side,  his  mantle  was  for  me, 
For  any  who  passeth  were  his  mantle  and  his  purse, 
And  now  like  a  gourd  is  he  withered  from  our  eyes. 
His  friendship,  it  was  like  a  shady  wood — 
Whither  has  he  gone? — Who  shall  speak  for  us? 
Who  shall  save  us  from  the  kourbash  and  the  stripes? 
Who  shall  proclaim  us  in  the  palace? 
Who  shall  contend  for  us  in  the  gate? 
The  sakkia  turneth  no  more;  the  oxen  they  are  gone; 
The  young  go  forth  in  chains,  the  old  waken  in  the  night, 
They  waken  and  weep,  for  the  wheel  turns  backward, 
And  the  dark  days  are  come  again  upon  us — 
Will  he  return  no  more? 
His  friendship  was  like  a  shady  wood, 

')  Nile  that  floweth  deeply,  hast  thou  not  heard  his  voice? 
Hast  thou  covered  up  his  footsteps  with  thy  flood  ? 
The  core  of  my  heart,  the  mildew  findeth  it!" 

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THE    WEAVERS 

Another — an  old  man — took  up  the  strain,  as  the 
drum  kept  time  to  the  beat  of  the  voice  with  its  undu- 
lating call  and  refrain — 

"When  his  footsteps  were  among  us  there  was  peace; 
War  entered  not  the  village,  nor  the  call  of  war. 
Now  our  homes  are  as  those  that  have  no  roofs. 
As  a  nest  decayed,  as  a  cave  forsaken, 
As  a  ship  that  lieth  broken  on  the  beach, 
Is  the  house  where  we  were  born. 
Out  in  the  desert  did  we  bury  our  gold, 

We  buried  it  where  no  man  robbed  us,  for  his  arm  was  strong. 
Now,  are  the  jars  empty,  gold  did  not  avail 
To  save  our  young  men,  to  keep  them  from  the  chains. 
God  hath  swallowed  his  voice,  or  the  sea  hath  drowned  it, 
Or  the  Nile  hath  covered  him  with  its  flood; 
Else  would  he  come  when  our  voices  call. 
His  word  was  honey  in  the  prince's  ear — 
Will  he  return  no  more?" 

And  now  the  sheikh-el-beled  spoke.  "It  hath  been 
so  since  Nahoum  Pasha  passed  this  way  four  months 
agone.  He  hath  changed  all.  War  will  not  avail. 
David  Pasha,  he  will  come  again.  His  word  is  as  the 
centre  of  the  world.  Ye  have  no  hope,  because  ye  see 
the  hawks  among  the  starving  sheep.  But  the  shep- 
herd will  return  from  behind  the  hill,  and  the  hawks 
will  flee  away.  .  .  .  Behold,  once  was  I  in  the  desert. 
Listen,  for  mine  are  the  words  of  one  who  hath  trav- 
elled far — was  I  not  at  Damascus  and  Palmyra  and 
Bagdad,  and  at  Mecca  by  the  tomb  of  Mahomet?" 

Reverently  he  touched  the  green  turban  on  his  head, 
evidence  of  his  journey  to  Mahomet's  tomb.  "Once  in 
the  desert  I  saw  afar  off  an  oasis  of  wood  and  water,  and 
flying  things,  and  houses  where  a  man  might  rest.  And 
I  got  me  down  from  my  camel,  and  knelt  upon  my  sheep- 
skin, and  gave  thanks  in  the  name  of  Allah.  Thereupon 
I  mounted  again  and  rode  on  towards  that  goodly  place. 
But  as  I  rode  it  vanished  from  my  sight.     Then  did  I 

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THE    WEAVERS 

mourn.  Yet  once  again  I  saw  the  trees,  and  flocks  of 
pigeons  and  waving  fields,  and  I  was  hungry  and  thirsty, 
and  longed  exceedingly.  Yet  got  I  down,  and,  upon 
my  sheepskin,  once  more  gave  thanks  to  Allah.  And 
I  mounted  thereafter  in  haste  and  rode  on;  but  once 
again  was  I  mocked.  Then  I  cried  aloud  in  my  de- 
spair. It  was  in  my  heart  to  die  upon  the  sheepskin 
where  I  had  prayed;  for  I  was  burned  up  within,  and 
there  seemed  naught  to  do  but  say  malaish,  and  go 
hence.  But  that  goodly  sight  came  again.  My  heart 
rebelled  that  I  should  be  so  mocked.  I  bent  down  my 
head  upon  my  camel  that  I  might  not  see,  yet  once  more 
I  loosed  the  sheepskin.  Lifting  up  my  heart,  I  looked 
again,  and  again  I  took  hope  and  rode  on.  Farther  and 
farther  I  rode,  and  lo!  I  was  no  longer  mocked;  for  I 
came  to  a  goodly  place  of  water  and  trees,  and  was  saved. 
So  shall  it  be  with  us.  We  have  looked  for  his  coming 
again,  and  our  hearts  have  fallen  and  been  as  ashes,  for 
that  he  has  not  come.  Yet  there  be  mirages,  and  one 
day  soon  David  Pasha  will  come  hither,  and  our  pains 
shall  be  eased." 

"Aiwa,  aiwa — yes,  yes,"  cried  the  lad  who  had  sung 
to  them. 

"Aiwa,  aiwa,"  rang  softly  over  the  pond,  where  naked 
children  stooped  to  drink. 

The  smell  of  the  cooking-pots  floated  out  from  the 
mud-houses  near  by. 

"Malaish  "  said  one  after  another,  "I  am  hungry.  He 
will  come  again — perhaps  to-morrow."  So  they  moved 
towards  the  houses  over  the  way. 

One  cursed  his  woman  for  wailing  in  the  doorway;  one 
snatched  the  lid  from  a  cooking-pot;  one  drew  from  an 
oven  cakes  of  dourha  and  gave  them  to  those  who  had  none ; 
one  knelt  and  bowed  his  forehead  to  the  ground  in  prayer ; 
one  shouted  the  name  of  him  whose  coming  they  desired. 

So  was  David  missed  in  Egypt. 

267 


XXIII 

THE    TENTS    OF    CUSHAN 

"I  saw  the  tents  of  Cushan  in  affliction,  and  the  curtains  of  the 
Land  of  Midian  did  tremble." 

A  hurdy-gurdy  was  standing  at  the  corner,  playing 
with  shrill  insistence  a  medley  of  Scottish  airs.  Now 
"Loch  Lomond"  pleaded  for  pennies  from  the  upper 
windows : 

"For  you'll  tak'  the  high  road,  and  I'll  tak'  the  low  road, 
And  I'll  be  in  Scotland  before  ye: 
But  I  and  my  true  love  will  never  meet  again, 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  of  Loch  Lomond!" 

The  hurdy-gurdy  was  strident  and  insistent,  but  for  a 
long  time  no  response  came.  At  last,  however,  as  the 
strains  of  "Loch  Lomond"  ceased,  a  lady  appeared  on 
the  balcony  of  a  drawing-room,  and,  leaning  over  a  little 
forest  of  flowers  and  plants,  threw  a  half-crown  to  the 
sorry  street  musician.  She  watched  the  grotesque  thing 
trundle  away,  then  entering  the  house  again,  took  a 
'cello  from  the  corner  of  the  room  and  tuned  the  in- 
strument tenderly.     It  was  Hylda. 

Something  of  the  peace  of  Hamley  had  followed  her  to 
London,  but  the  poignant  pain  of  it  had  come  also.  Like 
Melisande,  she  had  looked  into  the  quiet  pool  of  life,  and 
had  seen  her  own  face,  its  story  and  its  foreshado wings. 
Since  then  she  had  been  "apart."     She  had  watched  life 

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THE    WEAVERS 

move  on  rather  than  shared  in  its  movement.  Things 
stood  still  for  her.  That  apathy  of  soul  was  upon  her 
which  follows  the  inward  struggle  that  exhausts  the 
throb  and  fret  of  inward  emotions,  leaving  the  mind 
dominant,  the  will  in  abeyance. 

She  had  become  conscious  that  her  fate  and  future  were 
suspended  over  a  chasm,  as  on  the  trapeze  of  a  balloon, 
an  adventurous  aeronaut  hangs  uncertain  over  the  hun- 
gry sea,  waiting  for  the  coming  wind  which  will  either 
blow  the  hazardous  vessel  to  its  doom  or  to  safe  refuge 
on  the  land. 

She  had  not  seen  David  after  he  left  Hamley.  Their 
last  words  had  been  spoken  at  the  Meeting-house  when  he 
gave  Faith  to  her  care.  That  scene  came  back  to  her 
now,  and  a  flush  crept  slowly  over  her  face  and  faded 
away  again.  She  was  recalling,  too,  the  afternoon  of  that 
day  when  she  and  David  had  parted  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  the  Cloistered  House,  and  Eglington  had  asked 
her  to  sing.  She  thought  of  the  hours  with  Eglington 
that  followed,  first  at  the  piano,  and  afterwards  in  the 
laboratory,  where  in  his  long  blue  smock  he  made  ex- 
periments. Had  she  not  been  conscious  of  something 
enigmatical  in  his  gaiety  that  afternoon,  in  his  cheerful 
yet  cheerless  words,  she  would  have  been  deeply  im- 
pressed by  his  appreciation  of  her  playing,  and  his  keen 
reflections  on  the  merits  of  the  composers;  by  his  still 
keener  attention  to  his  subsequent  experiments,  and  his 
amusing  comments  upon  them.  But,  somehow,  that 
very  cheerless  cheerfulness  seemed  to  proclaim  him 
superficial.  Though  she  had  no  knowledge  of  science, 
she  instinctively  doubted  his  earnestness  even  in  this 
work,  which  certainly  was  not  pursued  for  effect.  She 
had  put  the  feeling  from  her,  but  it  kept  returning.  She 
felt  that  in  nothing  did  he  touch  the  depths.  Nothing 
could  possess  him  wholly;  nothing  inherent  could  make 
him  self-effacing. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

Yet  she  wondered,  too,  if  she  was  right,  when  she  saw 
his  fox-terrier  watching  him,  ever  watching  him  with 
his  big  brown  eyes  as  he  buoyantly  worked,  and  saw 
him  stoop  to  pat  its  head.  Or  was  this,  after  all,  mere 
animalism,  mere  superficial  vitality,  love  of  health  and 
being?  She  shuddered,  and  shut  her  eyes,  for  it  came 
home  to  her  that  to  him  she  was  just  such  a  being  of 
health,  vitality,  and  comeliness,  on  a  little  higher  plane. 
She  put  the  thought  from  her,  but  it  had  had  its  birth, 
and  it  would  not  down.  He  had  immense  vitality,  he 
was  tireless,  and  abundant  in  work  and  industry;  he 
went  from  one  thing  to  another  with  ease  and  swiftly 
changing  eagerness.  Was  it  all  mere  force — mere  man 
and  mind  ?  Was  there  no  soul  behind  it  ?  There  in  the 
laboratory  she  had  laid  her  hand  on  the  terrier,  and 
prayed  in  her  heart  that  she  might  understand  him — for 
her  own  good,  her  own  happiness,  and  his.  Above  all 
else  she  wanted  to  love  him  truly,  and  to  be  loved  truly, 
and  duty  was  to  her  a  daily  sacrifice,  a  constant  memorial. 
She  realized  to  the  full  that  there  lay  before  her  a  long 
race  unilluminated  by  the  sacred  lamp  which,  lighted  at 
the  altar,  should  still  be  burning  beside  the  grave. 

Now,  as  she  thought  of  him,  she  kept  saying  to  herself, 
' '  We  should  have  worked  out  his  life  together.  Work 
together  would  have  brought  peace.  He  shuts  me  out. 
He  shuts  me  out." 

At  last  she  drew  the  bow  across  the  instrument,  once, 
twice,  and  then  she  began  to  play,  forgetful  of  the  world. 
She  had  a  contralto  voice,  and  she  sang  with  a  depth  of 
feeling  and  a  delicate  form  worthy  of  a  professional ;  on 
the  piano  she  was  effective  and  charming,  but  into  the 
'cello  she  poured  her  soul. 

For  quite  an  hour  she  played  with  scarce  an  in- 
terruption. At  last,  with  a  sigh,  she  laid  the  instrument 
against  her  knee  and  gazed  out  of  the  window.  As  she 
sat  lost  in  her  dream — a  dream  of  the  desert — a  servant 

270 


THE    WEAVERS 

entered  with  letters.  One  caught  her  eye.  It  was  from 
Egypt — from  her  cousin  Lacey!  Her  heart  throbbed 
violently,  yet  she  opened  the  official-looking  envelope 
with  steady  fingers.  She  would  not  admit  even  to  her- 
self that  news  from  the  desert  could  move  her  so.  She 
began  to  read  slowly,  but  presently,  with  a  little  cry, 
she  hastened  through  the  pages.     It  ran: 

"The  Soudan. 

"Dear  Lady  Cousin, — I'm  still  not  certain  how  I 
ought  to  style  you,  but  I  thought  I'd  compromise  as  per 
above.  Anyway,  it's  a  sure  thing  that  I  haven't  bothered 
you  much  with  country-cousin  letters.  I  figure,  how- 
ever, that  you've  put  some  money  in  Egypt,  so  to  speak, 
and  what  happens  to  this  sandy-eyed  foundling  of  the 
Nile  you  would  like  to  know.  So  I've  studied  the  only 
'complete  letter- writer '  I  could  find  between  the  tropic 
of  Capricorn  and  Khartoum,  and  this  is  the  contemptible 
result,  as  the  dagos  in  Mexico  say.  This  is  a  hot  place  by 
reason  of  the  sun  that  shines  above  us,  and  likewise  it 
is  hot  because  of  the  niggers  that  swarm  around  us.  I 
figure,  if  we  get  out  of  this  portion  of  the  African  con- 
tinent inside  our  skins,  that  we  will  have  put  up  a  pretty 
good  bluff,  and  pulled  off  a  ticklish  proposition. 

"It's  a  sort  of  early  Christian  business.  You  see,  David 
the  Saadat  is  great  on  moral  suasion — he's  a  master  of  it; 
and  he's  never  failed  yet — not  altogether;  though  there 
have  been  minutes  by  a  stop-watch  when  I've  thought  it 
wouldn't  stand  the  strain — like  the  Mississippi  steam- 
boat which  was  so  weak  that  when  the  whistle  blew  the 
engines  stopped !  When  those  frozen  minutes  have  come 
to  us,  I've  tried  to  remember  the  correct  religious  eti- 
quette, but  I've  not  had  much  practice  since  I  stayed 
with  Aunt  Melissa,  and  lived  on  skim-milk  and  early 
piety.  When  things  were  looking  as  bad  as  they  did  for 
Dives,  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,'  and  'For  what  we 

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THE    WEAVERS 

are  about  to  receive,'  was  all  that  I  could  think  of. 
But  the  Saadat,  he's  a  wonder  from  Wondertown.  With 
a  little  stick,  or  maybe  his  flute  under  his  arm,  he'll 
smile  and  string  these  heathen  along,  when  you'd  think 
they  weren't  waiting  for  anybody.  A  spear  took  off  his 
fez  yesterday.  He  never  blinked — he's  a  jim-dandy  at 
keeping  cool;  and  when  a  hundred  mounted  heathens 
made  a  rush  down  on  him  the  other  day,  spears  sticking 
out  like  quills  on  a  porcupine— 2.5  on  the  shell-road  the 
chargers  were  going — did  he  stir?  Say,  he  watched  'em 
as  if  they  were  playing  for  his  benefit.  And  sure  enough, 
he  was  right.  They  parted  either  side  of  him  when  they 
were  ten  feet  away,  and  there  he  was  quite  safe,  a  blessing 
in  the  storm,  a  little  rock  island  in  the  rapids — but  I 
couldn't  remember  a  proper  hymn  of  praise  to  say. 

"There's  no  getting  away  from  the  fact  that  he's  got 
a  will  or  something,  a  sort  of  force  different  from  most  of 
us,  or  perhaps  any  of  us.  These  heathen  feel  it,  and 
keep  their  hands  off  him.  They  say  he's  mad,  but  they've 
got  great  respect  for  mad  people,  for  they  think  that 
God  has  got  their  souls  above  with  Him,  and  that  what's 
left  behind  on  earth  is  sacred.  He  talks  to  'em,  too,  like 
a  father  in  Israel;  tells  'em  they  must  stop  buying  and 
selling  slaves,  and  that  if  they  don't  he  will  have  to  pun- 
ish them!  And  I  sit  holding  my  sides,  for  we're  only 
two  white  men  and  forty  'friendlies'  altogether,  and  two 
revolvers  among  us;  and  I've  got  the  two!  And  they 
listen  to  his  blarneying,  and  say,  'Aiwa,  Saadat/  aiwa, 
Saadat  V  as  if  he  had  an  army  of  fifty  thousand  behind 
him.  Sometimes  I've  sort  of  hinted  that  his  canoe  was 
carrying  a  lot  of  sail;  but  my!  he  believes  in  it  all  as  if 
there  wasn't  a  spear  or  a  battle-axe  or  a  rifle  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  him.  We've  been  at  this  for  two 
months  now,  and  a  lot  of  ground  we  covered  till  we  got 
here.  I've  ridden  the  gentle  camel  at  the  rate  of  sixty 
and  seventy  miles  a  day — sort  of  sweeping  through  the 

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THE    WEAVERS 

land,  making  treaties,  giving  presents,  freeing  slaves, 
appointing  governors  and  sheikhs-el-beled,  doing  it  as 
if  we  owned  the  continent.  He  mesmerized  'em,  simply 
mesmerized  'em — till  we  got  here.  I  don't  know  what 
happened  then.  Now  we're  distinctly  rating  low,  the 
laugh  is  on  us  somehow.  But  he — mind  it?  He  goes 
about  talking  to  the  sheikhs  as  though  we  were  all  eating 
off  the  same  corn-cob,  and  it  seems  to  stupefy  them; 
they  don't  grasp  it.  He  goes  on  arranging  for  a  post 
here  and  a  station  there,  and  it  never  occurs  to  him  that 
it  ain't  really  actual.  He  doesn't  tell  me,  and  I  don't 
ask  him,  for  I  came  along  to  wipe  his  stirrups,  so  to  speak. 
I  put  my  money  on  him,  and  I'm  not  going  to  worry 
him.  He's  so  dead  certain  in  what  he  does,  and  what  he 
is,  that  I  don't  lose  any  sleep  guessing  about  him.  It 
will  be  funny  if  we  do  win  out  on  this  proposition — 
funnier  than  anything. 

"Now,  there's  one  curious  thing  about  it  all  which 
ought  to  be  whispered,  for  I'm  only  guessing,  and  I'm 
not  a  good  guesser;  I  guessed  too  much  in  Mexico  about 
three  railways  and  two  silver-mines.  The  first  two 
days  after  we  came  here,  everything  was  all  right.  Then 
there  came  an  Egyptian,  Halim  Bey,  with  a  handful  of 
niggers  from  Cairo,  and  letters  for  Claridge  Pasha. 
From  that  minute  there  was  trouble.  I  figure  it  out 
this  way:  Halim  was  sent  by  Nahoum  Pasha  to  bring 
letters  that  said  one  thing  to  the  Saadat,  and,  when  quite 
convenient,  to  say  other  things  to  Mustafa,  the  boss 
sheikh  of  this  settlement.  Halim  Bey  has  gone  again, 
but  he  has  left  his  tale  behind  him.  I'd  stake  all  I  lost, 
and  more  than  I  ever  expect  to  get  out  of  Mexico  on 
that,  and  maybe  I'll  get  a  hatful  out  of  Mexico  yet!  I 
had  some  good  mining  propositions  down  there.  The 
Saadat  believes  in  Nahoum,  and  has  made  Nahoum  what 
he  is ;  and  on  the  surface  Nahoum  pretends  to  help  him ; 
but  he  is  running  underground  all  the  time.     I'd  like  to 

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THE    WEAVERS 

help  give  him  a  villa  at  Fazougli.  When  the  Saadat  was 
in  England  there  was  a  bad  time  in  Egypt.  I  was  in 
Cairo;  I  know.  It  was  the  same  bad  old  game — the 
corvee,  the  kourbash,  conscription,  a  war  manufactured 
to  fill  the  pockets  of  a  few,  while  the  poor  starved  and 
died.  It  didn't  come  off,  because  the  Saadat  wasn't 
gone  long  enough,  and  he  stopped  it  when  he  came  back. 
But  Nahoum  —  he  laid  the  blame  on  others,  and  the 
Saadat  took  his  word  for  it,  and,  instead  of  a  war,  there 
came  this  expedition  of  his  own. 

"Ten  days  later. — Things  have  happened.  First, 
there's  been  awful  sickness  among  the  natives,  and  the 
Saadat  has  had  his  chance.  His  medicine-chest  was 
loaded, — he  had  a  special  camel  for  it — and  he  has  fired 
it  off.  Night  and  day  he  has  worked,  never  resting, 
never  sleeping,  curing  most,  burying  a  few.  He  looks 
like  a  ghost  now,  but  it's  no  use  saying  or  doing  any- 
thing. He  says,  '  Sink  your  own  will ;  let  it  be  subject 
to  a  higher,  and  you  need  take  no  thought.'  It's  eating 
away  his  life  and  strength,  but  it  has  given  us  our 
return  tickets,  I  guess.  They  hang  about  him  as  if 
he  was  Moses  in  the  wilderness  smiting  the  rock.  It's 
his  luck.  Just  when  I  get  scared  to  death,  and  run 
down,  and  want  a  tonic,  and  it  looks  as  if  there'd  be  no 
need  to  put  out  next  week's  washing,  then  his  luck  steps 
in,  and  we  get  another  run.  But  it  takes  a  heap  out  of 
a  man,  getting  scared.  Whenever  I  look  on  a  lot  of 
green  trees  and  cattle  and  horses,  and  the  sun,  to  say 
nothing  of  women  and  children,  and  listen  to  music,  or 
feel  a  horse  eating  up  the  ground  under  me,  2.10  in  the 
sand,  I  hate  to  think  of  leaving  it,  and  I  try  to  prevent 
it.  Besides,  I  don't  like  the  proposition  of  going,  I  don't 
know  where.  That's  why  I  get  scared.  But  he  says 
that  it's  no  more  than  turning  down  the  light  and  turn- 
ing it  up  again. 

'They  used  to  call  me  a  dreamer  in  Mexico,  because 

274 


THE    WEAVERS 

I  kept  seeing  things  that  no  one  else  had  thought  of,  and 
laid  out  railways  and  tapped  mines  for  the  future;  but 
I  was  nothing  to  him.  I'm  a  high-and-dry  hedge-clip- 
per alongside.  I'm  betting  on  him  all  the  time;  but  no 
one  seems  to  be  working  to  make  his  dreams  come  true, 
except  himself.  I  don't  count;  I'm  no  good,  no  real 
good.  I'm  only  fit  to  run  the  commissariat,  and  see 
that  he  gets  enough  to  eat,  and  has  a  safe  camel,  and  so 
on.  Why  doesn't  some  one  else  help  him?  He's  work- 
ing for  humanity.  Give  him  half  a  chance,  and  Haroun- 
al-Raschid  won't  be  in  it.  Kaid  trusts  him,  depends 
on  him,  stands  by  him,  but  doesn't  seem  to  know  how 
to  help  him  when  help  would  do  most  good.  The  Saadat 
does  it  all  himself;  and  if  it  wasn't  that  the  poor  devil 
of  a  fellah  sees  what  he's  doing,  and  cottons  to  him,  and 
the  dervishes  and  Arabs  feel  he's  right,  he  might  as  well 
leave.  But  it's  just  there  he  counts.  There's  some- 
thing about  him,  something  that's  Quaker  in  him,  primi- 
tive, silent,  and  perceptive — if  that's  a  real  word — 
which  makes  them  feel  that  he's  honest,  and  isn't  after 
anything  for  himself.  Arabs  don't  talk  much;  they 
make  each  other  understand  without  many  words.  They 
think  with  all  their  might  on  one  thing  at  a  time,  and 
they  think  things  into  happening — and  so  does  he.  He's 
a  thousand  years  old,  which  is  about  as  old-fashioned  as 
I  mean,  and  as  wise,  and  as  plain  to  read  as  though 
you'd  write  the  letters  of  words  as  big  as  a  date-palm. 
That's  where  he  makes  the  running  with  them,  and  they 
can  read  their  title  clear  to  mansions  in  the  skies! 

'You  should  hear  him  talk  with  Ebn  Ezra  Bey — per- 
haps you  don't  know  of  Ezra?  He  was  a  friend  of  his 
Uncle  Benn,  and  brought  the  news  of  his  massacre  to 
England,  and  came  back  with  the  Saadat.  Well, 
three  days  ago  Ebn  Ezra  came,  and  there  came  with 
him,  too,  Halim  Bey,  the  Egyptian,  who  had  brought 
the  letters  to  us    from   Cairo.       Ebn  Ezra   found    him 

275 


THE    WEAVERS 

down  the  river  deserted  by  his  niggers,  and  sick  with 
this  new  sort  of  fever,  which  the  Saadat  is  knocking 
out  of  time.  And  there  he  lies,  the  Saadat  caring 
for  him  as  though  he  was  his  brother.  But  that's  his 
way;  though,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  the  Saadat 
doesn't  suspect  what  I  suspect,  that  Halim  Bey  brought 
word  from  Nahoum  to  our  sheikhs  here  to  keep  us  here, 
or  lose  us,  or  do  away  with  us.  Old  Ebn  Ezra  doesn't  say 
much  himself,  doesn't  say  anything  about  that;  but  he's 
guessing  the  same  as  me.  And  the  Saadat  looks  as 
though  he  was  ready  for  his  grave,  but  keeps  going,  go- 
ing, going.  He  never  seems  to  sleep.  What  keeps  him 
alive  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  feel  clean  knocked 
out  myself  with  the  little  I  do,  but  he's  a  travelling 
hospital  all  by  his  lonesome. 

"'Later. — I  had  to  stop  writing,  for  things  have  been 
going  on — several.  I  can  see  that  Ebn  Ezra  has  told 
the  Saadat  things  that  make  him  want  to  get  away  to 
Cairo  as  soon  as  possible.  That  it's  Nahoum  Pasha  and 
others  —  oh,  plenty  of  others,  of  course  —  I'm  certain; 
but  what  the  particular  game  is  I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
you  know  over  in  England,  for  you're  nearer  Cairo  than 
we  are  by  a  few  miles,  and  you've  got  the  telegraph. 
Perhaps  there's  a  revolution,  perhaps  there's  been  a 
massacre  of  Europeans,  perhaps  Turkey  is  kicking  up  a 
dust,  perhaps  Europe  is  interfering — all  of  it,  all  at  once. 

''Later  still. — I've  found  out  it's  a  little  of  all,  and 
the  Saadat  is  ready  to  go.  I  guess  he  can  go  now 
pretty  soon,  for  the  worst  of  the  fever  is  over.  But 
something  has  happened  that's  upset  him — -knocked 
him  stony  for  a  minute.  Halim  Bey  was  killed  last 
night  — by  order  of  the  sheikhs,  I'm  told;  but  the 
sheikhs  won't  give  it  away.  When  the  Saadat  went  to 
them,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  face  pale  as  a  sheet,  and  as 
good  as  swore  at  them,  and  treated  them  as  though 
he'd  string  them  up  the  next  minute,  they  only  put 

276 


THE    WEAVERS 

their  hands  on  their  heads,  and  said  they  were  'the  fallen 
leaves  for  his  foot  to  scatter,'  the  'snow  on  the  hill  for 
his  breath  to  melt';  but  they  wouldn't  give  him  any 
satisfaction.  So  he  came  back  and  shut  himself  up  in 
his  tent,  and  he  sits  there  like  a  ghost  all  shrivelled  up 
for  want  of  sleep,  and  his  eyes  like  a  lime-kiln  burning; 
for  now  he  knows  this  at  least,  that  Halim  Bey  had 
brought  some  word  from  Kaid's  Palace  that  set  these 
Arabs  against  him,  and  nearly  stopped  my  correspond- 
ence. You  see,  there's  a  widow  in  Cairo — she's  a  sister  of 
the  American  consul,  and  I've  promised  to  take  her  with 
a  party  camping  in  the  Fayoum — cute  as  she  can  be, 
and  plays  the  guitar!  But  it's  all  right  now,  except  that 
the  Saadat  is  running  too  close  and  fine.  If  he  has  any 
real  friends  in  England  among  the  Government  people, 
or  among  those  who  can  make  the  Government  people 
sit  up,  and  think  what's  coming  to  Egypt  and  to  him, 
they'll  help  him  now  when  he  needs  it.  He'll  need  help 
real  bad  when  he  gets  back  to  Cairo — if  we  get  that  far. 
It  isn't  yet  a  sure  thing,  for  we've  got  to  fight  in  the 
next  day  or  two — I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  sooner.  There's 
a  bull- Arab  on  the  rampage  with  five  thousand  men, 
and  he's  got  a  cla  m  out  on  our  sheikh,  Mustafa,  for  ivory 
he  has  here,  and  there's  going  to  be  a  scrimmage.  We've 
got  to  make  for  a  better  position  to-morrow,  and  meet 
Abdullah,  the  bull-Arab,  further  down  the  river.  That's 
one  reason  why  Mustafa  and  all  our  friends  here  are  so 
sweet  on  us  now.  They  look  on  the  Saadat  as  a  kind  of 
mascot,  and  they  think  that  he  can  wipe  out  the  enemy 
with  his  flute,  which  they  believe  is  a  witch-stick  to 
work  wonders. 

"He's  just  sent  for  me  to  come,  and  I  must  stop  soon. 
Say,  he  hasn't  had  sleep  for  a  fortnight.  It's  too  much; 
he  can't  stand  it.  I  tried  it,  and  couldn't.  He  wore  me 
down.  He's  killing  himself  for  others.  I  can't  manage 
him;   but   I   guess  you  could.     I  apologize,  dear  Lady 

277 


THE    WEAVERS 

Cousin.  I'm  only  a  hayseed,  and  a  failure,  but  I  guess 
you'll  understand  that  I  haven't  thought  only  of  myself 
as  I  wrote  this  letter.  The  higher  you  go  in  life  the  more 
you'll  understand;  that's  your  nature.  I'll  get  this  let- 
ter off  by  a  nigger  to-morrow,  with  those  the  Saadat  is 
sending  through  to  Cairo  by  some  friendlies.  It's  only 
a  chance;  but  everything's  chance  here  now.  Anyhow, 
it's  safer  than  leaving  it  till  the  scrimmage.  If  you  get 
this,  won't  you  try  and  make  the  British  Government 
stand  by  the  Saadat?  Your  husband,  the  lord,  could 
pull  it  off,  if  he  tried;  and  if  you  ask  him,  I  guess  he'd 
try.  I  must  be  off  now.  David  Pasha  will  be  waiting. 
Well,  give  my  love  to  the  girls! 

"  Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"Tom  Lacey. 

"P.  S. — I've  got  a  first-class  camel  for  our  scrimmage 
day  after  to-morrow.  Mustafa  sent  it  to  me  this  morn- 
ing. I  had  a  fight  on  mules  once,  down  at  Oaxaca,  but 
that  was  child's  play.  This  will  be  'slaughter  in  the 
pan,'  if  the  Saadat  doesn't  stop  it  somehow.  Perhaps 
he  will.  If  I  wasn't  so  scared  I'd  wish  he  couldn't  stop 
it,  for  it  will  be  a  way-up  Barbarian  scrap,  the  tongs 
and  the  kettle,  a  bully  panjandrum.  It  gets  mighty 
dull  in  the  desert  when  you're  not  moving.  But  'it 
makes  to  think,'  as  the  French  say.  Since  I  came  out 
here  I've  had  several  real  centre  thoughts,  sort  of  main 
principles — key-thoughts,  that's  it.  What  I  want  now 
is  a  sort  of  safety-ring  to  string  'em  on  and  keep  'em 
safe;  for  I  haven't  a  good  memory,  and  I  get  mighty 
rattled  sometimes.  Thoughts  like  these  are  like  the 
secret  of  a  combination-lock ;  they  let  you  into  the  place 
where  the  gold  and  securities  and  title-deeds  of  life  are. 
Trouble  is,  I  haven't  got  a  safety-ring,  and  I'm  certain 
to  lose  them.  I  haven't  got  what  you'd  call  an  intel- 
lectual memory.     Things  come  in  flashes  to  me  out  of 

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THE    WEAVERS 

experiences,  and  pull  me  up  short,  and  I  say,  'Yes, 
that's  it — that's  it;  I  understand!'  I  see  why  it's  so,  and 
what  it  means,  and  where  it  leads,  and  how  far  it 
spreads.  It's  five  thousand  years  old.  Adam  thought 
it  after  Cain  killed  Abel,  or  Abel  thought  it  just  before 
he  died,  or  Eve  learned  it  from  Lilith,  or  it  struck  Abra- 
ham when  he  went  to  sacrifice  Isaac.  Sometimes  things 
hit  me  deep  like  that  here  in  the  desert.  Then  I  feel 
I  can  see  just  over  on  the  horizon  the  tents  of  Moab  in 
the  wilderness ;  that  yesterday  and  to-day  are  the  same ; 
that  I've  crossed  the  prairies  of  the  everlasting  years, 
and  am  playing  about  with  Ishmael  in  the  wild  hills,  or 
fighting  with  Ahab.  Then  the  world  and  time  seem 
pretty  small  potatoes. 

"You  see  how  it  is.  I  never  was  trained  to  think,  and 
I  get  stunned  by  thoughts  that  strike  me  as  being  dug 
right  out  of  the  centre.  Sometimes  I'd  like  to  write 
them  down;  but  I  can't  write;  I  can  only  talk  as  I'm 
talking  to  you.  If  you  weren't  so  high  up,  and  so  much 
cleverer  than  I  am,  and  such  a  thinker,  I'd  like  you 
to  be  my  safety-ring,  if  you  would.  I  could  tell  the 
key-thoughts  to  you  when  they  came  to  me,  before  I 
forgot  them  with  all  their  bearings;  and  by  and  by  they'd 
do  me  a  lot  of  good  when  I  got  away  from  this  in- 
fluence, and  back  into  the  machinery  of  the  Western 
world  again.  If  you  could  come  out  here,  if  you  could 
feel  what  I  feel  here — and  you  would  feel  a  thousand 
times  as  much — I  don't  know  what  you  wouldn't  do! 
It's  pretty  wonderful.  The  nights  with  the  stars  so 
white  and  glittering,  and  so  near  that  you'd  think  you 
could  reach  up  and  hand  them  down;  the  dark,  deep  blue 
beyond;  such  a  width  of  life  all  round  you,  a  sort  of 
never-ending  space,  that  everything  you  ever  saw  or  did 
seems  little,  and  God  so  great  in  a  kind  of  hovering  sense 
like  a  pair  of  wings;  and  all  the  secrets  of  time  com- 
ing out  of  it  all,  and  sort  of  touching  your  face  like  a 
19  279 


THE    WEAVERS 

velvet  wind.  I  expect  you'll  think  me  sentimental,  a 
first-class  squash  out  of  the  pumpkin-garden;  but  it's 
in  the  desert,  and  it  gets  into  you  and  saturates  you,  till 
you  feel  that  this  is  a  kind  of  middle  space  between  the 
world  of  cities,  and  factories,  and  railways,  and  tene- 
ment-houses, and  the  quiet  world  to  come  —  a  place 
where  they  think  out  things  for  the  benefit  of  future 
generations,  and  convey  them  through  incarnations,  or 
through  the  desert.  Say,  your  ladyship,  I'm  a  chatterer, 
I'm  a  two-cent  philosopher,  I'm  a  baby;  but  you  are  too 
much  like  your  grandmother,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a 
Quaker  like  David  Pasha,  to  laugh  at  me. 

"I've  got  a  suit  of  fine  chain-armor  which  I  bought  of 
an  Arab  down  by  Darfur.  I'm  wondering  if  it  would  be 
too  cowardly  to  wear  it  in  the  scrap  that's  coming.  I 
don't  know,  though,  but  what  I'll  wear  it,  I  get  so  scared. 
But  it  will  be  a  frightful  hot  thing  under  my  clothes, 
and  it's  hot  enough  without  that,  so  I'm  not  sure.  It 
depends  how  much  my  teeth  chatter  when  I  see  'the 
dawn  of  battle.' 

"I've  got  one  more  thing  before  I  stop.  I'm  going  to 
send  you  a  piece  of  poetry  which  the  Saadat  wrote,  and 
tore  in  two,  and  threw  away.  He  was  working  off  his 
imagination,  I  guess,  as  you  have  to  do  out  here.  I  col- 
lected it  and  copied  it,  and  put  in  the  punctuation — he 
didn't  bother  about  that.  Perhaps  he  can't  punctuate. 
I  don't  understand  quite  what  the  poetry  means,  but 
maybe  you  will.  Anyway,  you'll  see  that  it's  a  real 
desert  piece.     Here  it  is: 

THE  DESERT  ROAD 


"  In  the  sands  I  lived  in  a  hut  of  palm, 
There  was  never  a  garden  to  see; 
There  was  never  a  path  through  the  desert  calm, 
Nor  a  way  through  its  storms  for  me. 
280 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Tenant  was  I  of  a  lone  domain; 
The  far  pale  caravans  wound 
To  the  rim  of  the  sky,  and  vanished  again; 
My  call  in  the  waste  was  drowned. 

"The  vultures  came  and  hovered  and  fled; 
And  once  there  stole  to  my  door 
A  white  gazelle,  but  its  eyes  were  dread 
With  the  hurt  of  the  wounds  it  bore. 

"It  passed  in  the  dusk  with  a  foot  of  fear, 
And  the  white  cold  mists  rolled  in; 
And  my  heart  was  the  heart  of  a  stricken  deer,. 
Of  a  soul  in  the  snare  of  sin. 

"  My  days  they  withered  like  rootless  things, 
And  the  sands  rolled  on,  rolled  wide; 
Like  a  pelican  I,  with  broken  wings, 
Like  a  drifting  barque  on  the  tide. 

"But  at  last,  in  the  light  of  a  rose-red  day, 
In  the  windless  glow  of  the  morn, 
From  over  the  hills  and  from  far  away, 
You  came — ah,  the  joy  of  the  morn! 

"And  wherever  your  footsteps  fell,  there  crept 
A  path — it  was  fair  and  wide: 
A  desert-road  which  no  sands  have  swept, 
Where  never  a  hope  has  died. 

"I  followed  you  forth,  and  your  beauty  held 
My  heart  like  an  ancient  song; 
By  that  desert  road  to  the  blossoming  plains 
I  came — and  the  way  was  long! 

"So  I  set  my  course  by  the  light  of  your  eyes; 
I  care  not  what  fate  may  send; 
On   the  road  I  tread  shine  the  love-starred  skies — 
The  road  with  never  an  end. 

"Not  many  men  can  do  things  like  that,  and  the  other 
things,  too,  that  he  does.  Perhaps  he  will  win  through, 
by  himself,  but  is  it  fair  to  have  him  run  the  risk?     If 

281 


THE    WEAVERS 

he  ever  did  you  a  good  turn,  as  you  once  said  to  me  he 
did,  won't  you  help  him  now?  You  are  on  the  inside 
of  political  things,  and  if  you  make  up  your  mind  to  help, 
nothing  will  stop  you — that  was  your  grandmother's  way. 
He  ought  to  get  his  backing  pretty  soon,  or  it  won't  be 
any  good.  ...  I  hear  him  at  his  flute.  I  expect  he's 
tired  waiting  for  me.     Well,  give  my  love  to  the  girls! 

"T.  L." 

As  Hylda  read,  she  passed  through  phases  of  feeling 
begotten  of  new  understanding  which  shook  her  com- 
posure. She  had  seen  David  and  all  that  David  was 
doing;  Egypt,  and  all  that  was  threatening  the  land 
through  the  eyes  of  another  who  told  the  whole  truth 
— except  about  his  own  cowardice,  which  was  untrue. 
She  felt  the  issues  at  stake.  While  the  mention  of 
David's  personal  danger  left  her  sick  for  a  moment,  she 
saw  the  wider  peril  also  to  the  work  he  had  set  out 
to  do. 

What  was  the  thing  without  the  man?  It  could  not 
exist — it  had  no  meaning.  Where  was  he  now?  What 
had  been  the  end  of  the  battle  ?  He  had  saved  others, 
had  he  saved  himself?  The  most  charmed  life  must 
be  pierced  by  the  shaft  of  doom  sooner  or  later;  but  he 
was  little  more  than  a  youth  yet,  he  had  only  just 
begun! 

"And  the  Saadat  looks  as  if  he  was  ready  for  his 
grave — and  he  keeps  going,  going,  going!"  The  words 
kept  ringing  in  her  ears.  Again:  "  And  he  sits  there  like 
a  ghost  all  shrivelled  up  for  want  of  sleep,  and  his  eyes  like 
a  lime -kiln  burning.  .  .  .  He  hasn't  had  sleep  for  a  fort- 
night. .  .  .  He's  killing  himself  for  others." 

Her  own  eyes  were  shining  with  a  dry,  hot  light,  her 
lips  were  quivering,  but  her  hands  upon  the  letter  were 
steady  and  firm.     What  could  she  do? 

She  went  to  a  table,  picked  up  the  papers,  and  scanned 

282 


THE    WEAVERS 

them  hurriedly.  Not  a  word  about  Egypt.  She  thought 
for  a  moment,  then  left  the  drawing-room.  Passing 
up  a  flight  of  stairs  to  her  husband's  study,  she  knocked 
and  entered.  It  was  empty;  but  Eglington  was  in  the 
house,  for  a  red  despatch-box  lay  open  on  his  table. 
Instinctively  she  glanced  at  the  papers  exposed  in  the 
box,  and  at  the  letters  beside  it.  The  document  on  the 
top  of  the  pile  in  the  box  related  to  Cyprus — the  name 
caught  her  eye.  Another  document  was  half-exposed 
beneath  it.  Her  hand  went  to  her  heart.  She  saw  the 
words  "Soudan"  and  "Claridge  Pasha."  She  reached 
for  it,  then  drew  back  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  closed  as 
though  to  shut  it  out  from  her  sight.  Why  should  she 
not  see  it?  They  were  her  husband's  papers,  husband 
and  wife  were  one.  Husband  and  wife  one!  She  shrank 
back.  Were  they  one?  An  overmastering  desire  was 
on  her.  It  seemed  terrible  to  wait,  when  here  before 
her  was  news  of  David,  of  life  or  death.  Suddenly  she 
put  out  her  hand  and  drew  the  Cyprus  paper  over  the 
Egyptian  document,  so  that  she  might  not  see  it. 

As  she  did  so,  the  door  opened  on  her,  and  Eglington 
entered.  He  had  seen  the  swift  motion  of  her  hand, 
and  again  a  look  peculiar  to  him  crossed  his  face,  enig- 
matical, cynical,  not  pleasant  to  see. 

She  turned  on  him  slowly,  and  he  was  aware  of  her 
inward  distress  to  some  degree,  though  her  face  was 
ruled  to  quietness. 

He  nodded  at  her  and  smiled.  She  shrank,  for  she 
saw  in  his  nod  and  his  smile  that  suggestion  of  knowing 
all  about  everything  and  everybody,  and  thinking  the 
worst,  which  had  chilled  her  so  often.  Even  in  their 
short  married  life  it  had  chilled  those  confidences  which 
she  would  gladly  have  poured  out  before  him,  if  he  had 
been  a  man  with  an  open  soul.  Had  there  been  joined 
to  his  intellect  and  temperament  a  heart  capable  of 
true  convictions  and  abiding  love,  what  a  man  he  might 

283 


THE    WEAVERS 

have  been!  But  his  intellect  was  superficial,  and  his 
temperament  was  dangerous,  because  there  were  not  the 
experiences  of  a  soul  of  truth  to  give  the  deeper  hold 
upon  the  meaning  of  life.  She  shrank  now,  as  with  a 
little  laugh  and  glancing  suggestively  at  the  despatch- 
box,  he  said: 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  it  all?" 
She  felt  as  though  something  was  crushing  her  heart 
within  its  grasp,  and  her  eyes  took  on  a  new  look  of 
pain.      "I    did    not    read    the    papers,"    she    answered 
quietly. 

"I  saw  them  in  your  fingers.     What  creatures  women 
are— so  dishonorable  in  little  things,"  he  said  ironically. 
She  laid  a  hand  on  his.     "I  did  not  read  them,  Har- 
ry," she  urged. 

He  smiled  and  patted  her  arm.  "There,  there,  it 
doesn't  matter,"  he  laughed.  He  watched  her  nar- 
rowly. , 

"It  matters  greatly,"  she  answered  gently,  though 
his  words  had  cut  her  like  a  knife.  "  I  did  not  read  the 
papers.  I  only  saw  the  word  'Cyprus'  on  the  first 
paper,  and  I  pushed  it  over  the  paper  which  had  the 
word  'Egypt'  on  it— 'Egypt'  and  'Claridge,'  lest  I 
should  read  it.  I  did  not  wish  to  read  it.  I  am  not 
dishonorable,  Harry." 

He  had  hurt  her  more  than  he  had  ever  done;  and 
only  the  great  matter  at  stake  had  prevented  the  lesser 
part  of  her  from  bursting  forth  in  indignation,  from 
saying  things  which  she  did  not  wish  to  say.  She  had 
given  him  devotion — such  devotion,  such  self-effacement 
in  his  career  as  few  women  ever  gave.  Her  wealth — 
that  was  so  little  in  comparison  with  the  richness  of 
her  nature — had  been  his;  and  yet  his  vast  egotism 
took  it  all  as  his  right,  and  she  was  repaid  in  a  kind  of 
tyranny,  the  more  galling  and  cruel  because  it  was 
wielded  by  a  man  of  intellect  and  culture,  and  ancient 

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THE    "WEAVERS 

name  and  tradition.  If  he  had  been  warned  that  he 
was  losing  his  wife's  love,  he  would  have  scouted  the 
idea,  his  self-assurance  was  so  strong,  his  vanity  com- 
plete. If,  however,  he  had  been  told  that  another  man 
was  thinking  of  his  wife,  he  would  have  believed  it,  as 
he  believed  now  that  David  had  done;  and  he  cherished 
that  belief,  and  let  resentment  grow.  He  was  the  Earl 
of  Eglington,  and  no  matter  what  reputation  David  had 
reached,  he  was  still  a  member  of  a  Quaker  trader's  fam- 
ily, with  an  origin  slightly  touched  with  scandal.  An- 
other resentment,  however,  was  steadily  rising  in  him. 
It  galled  him  that  Hylda  should  take  so  powerful  an 
interest  in  David's  work  in  Egypt;  and  he  knew  now 
that  she  had  always  done  so.  It  did  not  ease  his  vexed 
spirit  to  know  that  thousands  of  others  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen  did  the  same.  They  might  do  so,  but  she 
was  hi  wife,  and  his  own  work  was  the  sun  round  which 
her  mind  and  interest  should  revolve. 

"Why  should  you  be  so  keen  about  Egypt  and  Clar- 
idge  Pasha?"  he  said  to  her  now. 

Her  face  hardened  a  little.  Had  he  the  right  to  tor- 
ture her  so  ?  To  suspect  her  ?  She  could  read  it  in  his 
eyes.  Her  conscience  was  clear.  She  was  no  man's 
slave.  She  would  not  be  any  man's  slave.  She  was 
master  of  her  own  soul.  What  right  had  he  to  catechize 
her — as  though  she  were  a  servant  or  a  criminal  ?  But 
she  checked  the  answer  on  her  tongue,  because  she  was 
hurt  deeper  than  words  could  express,  and  she  said,  com- 
posedly: 

"I  have  here  a  letter  from  my  cousin,  Lacey,  who  is 
with  Claridge  Pasha.  It  has  news  of  him,  of  events  in 
the  Soudan.  He  had  fever,  there  was  to  be  a  fight,  and 
I  wished  to  know  if  you  have  any  later  news.  I  thought 
that  document  there  might  contain  news,  but  I  did  not 
read  it.  I  realized  that  it  was  not  yours,  that  it  belonged 
to  the  Government,  that  I  had  no  right.     Perhaps  you 

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THE    WEAVERS 

will  tell  me  if  you  have  news.  Will  you?"  She  leaned 
against  the  table  wearily,  holding  her  letter. 

"Let  me  read  your  letter  first,"  he  said  wilfully. 

A  mist  seemed  to  come  before  her  eyes;  but  she  was 
schooled  to  self-command,  and  he  did  not  see  he  had 
given  her  a  shock.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  hand  the 
letter  over  at  once;  then  there  came  the  remembrance 
of  all  it  contained,  all  it  suggested.  Would  he  see  all 
it  suggested?  She  recalled  the  words  Lacey  had  used 
regarding  a  service  which  David  had  once  done  her.  If 
Eglington  asked,  what  could  she  say?  It  was  not  her 
secret  alone,  it  was  another's.  Would  she  have  the 
right,  even  if  she  wished  it,  to  tell  the  truth,  or  part  of 
the  truth?  Or,  would  she  be  entitled  to  relate  some 
immaterial  incident  which  would  evade  the  real  truth? 
What  good  could  it  do  to  tell  the  dark  story?  What 
could  it  serve  ?  Eglington  would  horribly  misunder- 
stand it — that  she  knew.  There  were  the  verses  also. 
They  were  more  suggestive  than  anything  else,  though, 
indeed,  they  might  have  referred  to  another  woman, 
or  were  merely  impersonal;  but  she  felt  that  was  not 
so.  And  there  was  Eglington's  innate  unbelief  in  man 
and  woman!  Her  first  impulse  held,  however.  She 
would  act  honestly.  She  would  face  whatever  there 
was  to  face.  She  would  not  shelter  herself;  she  would 
not  give  him  the  right  in  the  future  to  say  she  had  not 
dealt  fairly  by  him,  had  evaded  any  inquest  of  her  life 
or  mind  which  he  might  make. 

She  gave  him  the  letter,  her  heart  standing  still,  but 
she  was  filled  with  a  regnant  determination  to  defend 
herself,  to  defend  David  against  any  attack,  or  from 
any  consequences. 

All  her  life  and  hopes  seemed  hanging  in  the  balance, 
as  he  began  to  read  the  letter.  With  fear  she  saw  his 
face  cloud  over,  heard  an  impatient  exclamation  pass 
his  lips.     She  closed  her  eyes  to  gather  strength  for  the 

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THE    WEAVERS 

conflict  which  was  upon  her.  He  spoke,  and  she  vague- 
ly wondered  what  passage  in  the  letter  had  fixed  his  at- 
tention. His  voice  seemed  very  far  away.  She  scarce- 
ly understood.  But  presently  it  pierced  the  clouds  of 
numbness  between  them,  and  she  realized  what  he  was 
saying: 

"Vulgar  fellow — I  can't  congratulate  you  upon  your 
American  cousin.  So,  '  the  Saadat  is  great  on  moral 
suasion,  master  of  it — never  failed  yet — not  altogether 
— and  Aunt  Melissa  and  skim-milk  and  early  piety!'  And 
'  the  Saadat  is  a  wonder  from  Wondertown ' — like  a  side- 
show to  a  circus,  a  marvel  on  the  flying  trapeze!  Per- 
haps you  can  give  me  the  sense  of  the  letter,  if  there  is 
any  sense  in  it.  I  can't  read  his  writing,  and  it  seems 
interminable.     Would  you  mind?" 

A  sigh  of  relief  broke  from  her.  A  weight  slipped 
away  from  her  heart  and  brain.  It  was  as  though  one  in 
armor  awaited  the  impact  of  a  heavy,  cruel,  overwhelm- 
ing foe,  who  suddenly  disappeared,  and  the  armor  fell 
from  the  shoulders,  and  breath  came  easily  once  again. 

"Would  you  mind?"  he  repeated  dryly,  as  he  folded 
up  the  letter  slowly. 

He  handed  it  back  to  her,  the  note  of  sarcasm  in  his 
voice  pricking  her  like  the  point  of  a  dagger.  She  felt 
angered  with  herself  that  he  could  rouse  her  temper  by 
such  small  mean  irony.  She  had  a  sense  of  bitter  dis- 
appointment in  him — or  was  it  a  deep  hurt  ? — that  she 
had  not  made  him  love  her,  truly  love  her.  If  he  had 
only  meant  the  love  that  he  swore  before  they  had  mar- 
ried! Why  had  he  deceived  her  ?  It  had  all  been  in  his 
hands,  her  fate  and  future;  but  almost  before  the  bridal 
flowers  had  faded,  she  had  come  to  know  two  bitter 
things:  that  he  had  married  with  a  sordid  mind;  that  he 
was  incapable  of  the  love  which  transmutes  the  half- 
comprehending,  half-developed  affection  of  the  maid 
into  the  absorbing,  understanding,  beautiful  passion  of 

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THE    WEAVERS 

the  woman.  She  had  married  not  knowing  what  love 
and  passion  were;  uncomprehending;  and  innocent  be- 
cause uncomprehending;  with  a  fine  affection,  but  capable 
of  loving  wholly.  One  thing  had  purified  her  motives 
and  her  life — the  desire  to  share  with  Eglington  his 
public  duty  and  private  hopes,  to  be  his  confidante,  his 
friend,  his  coadjutor,  proud  of  him,  eager  for  him,  de- 
termined to  help  him.  But  he  had  blocked  the  path  to 
all  inner  companionship.  He  did  no  more  than  let  her 
share  the  obvious  and  outer  responsibilities  of  his  life. 
From  the  vital  things,  if  there  were  vital  things,  she  was 
shut  out.  What  would  she  not  give  for  one  day  of  simple 
tenderness  and  quiet  affection,  a  true  day  with  a  true 

love ! 

She  was  now  perfectly  composed.  She  told  him  the 
substance  of  the  letter,  of  David's  plight,  of  the  fever,  of 
the  intended  fight,  of  Nahoum  Pasha,  of  the  peril  to 
David's  work.  He  continued  to  interrogate  her,  while  she 
could  have  shrieked  out  the  question,  "What  is  in  yon- 
der document?  What  do  you  know?  Have  you  news 
of  his  safety?"  Would  he  never  stop  his  questioning? 
It  was  trying  her  strength  and  patience  beyond  endur- 
ance. At  last  he  drew  the  document  slowly  from  the 
despatch-box,  and  glanced  up  and  down  it  musingly. 

"I  fancy  he  won  the  battle,"  he  said  slowly,  "for  they 
have  news  of  him  much  farther  down  the  river.  But 
from  this  letter  I  take  it  he  is  not  yet  within  the  zone  of 
safety — so  Nahoum  Pasha  says."  He  flicked  the  docu- 
ment upwards  with  his  thumb. 

"What  is  our  Government  doing  to  help  him?"  she 
asked,  checking  her  eagerness. 

His  heart  had  gradually  hardened  towards  Egypt. 
Power  had  emphasized  a  certain  smallness  in  him. 
Personal  considerations  informed  the  policy  of  the  mo- 
ment. He  was  not  going  to  be  dragged  at  the  chariot 
wheels  of  the  Quaker.     To  be  passive,  when  David  in 

288 


THE    WEAVERS 

Egypt  had  asked  for  active  interest;  to  delay,  when 
urgency  was  important  to  Claridge  Pasha;  to  speak 
coldly  on  Egyptian  affairs  to  his  chief,  the  weak  Foreign 
Secretary — this  was  the  policy  he  had  begun. 

So  he  answered  now:  "It  is  the  duty  of  the  Egyptian 
government  to  help  him — of  Prince  Kaid,  of  Nahoum 
Pasha,  who  is  acting  for  him  in  his  absence,  who  governs 
finance  and  therefore  the  army.  Egypt  does  not  belong 
to  England." 

"Nahoum  Pasha  is  his  enemy.  He  will  do  nothing  to 
help,  unless  you  force  him." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  I  know  Nahoum  Pasha." 

"When  did  you  know  Nahoum?" 

"In  Egypt,  years  ago." 

"Your  acquaintance  is  more  varied  than  I  thought," 
he  said  sarcastically. 

"Oh,  do  not  speak  to  me  like  that,"  she  returned  in  a 
low,  indignant  voice.  "Do  not  patronize  me;  do  not  be 
sarcastic." 

"Do  not  be  so  sensitive,"  he  answered  unemotionally. 

"You  surely  do  not  mean  that  you — that  the  Gov- 
ernment will  not  help  him  ?  He  is  doing  the  work  of 
Europe,  of  civilization,  of  Christianity  there.  He  is  sac- 
rificing himself  for  the  world.  Do  you  not  see  it?  Oh, 
but  you  do!  You  would  realize  his  work  if  you  knew 
Egypt  as  I  have  seen  it." 

"Expediency  must  govern  the  policy  of  nations,"  he 
answered  critically. 

"But,  if  through  your  expediency  he  is  killed  like  a 
rat  in  a  trap,  and  his  work  goes  to  pieces — all  undone! 
Is  there  no  right  in  the  matter?" 

"In  affairs  of  state  other  circumstances  than  absolute 
'right '  enter.  Here  and  there  the  individual  is  sacrificed 
who  otherwise  would  be  saved — if  it  were  expedient." 

"Oh,  Eglington!     He  is  of  your  own  county,  of  your 

289 


THE    WEAVERS 

own  village,  is  your  neighbor,  a  man  of  whom  all  Eng- 
land should  be  proud.  You  can  intervene  if  you  will — ■ 
be  just,  and  say  you  will.  I  know  that  intervention  has 
been  discussed  in  the  Cabinet." 

"You  say  he  is  of  my  county.  So  are  many  people, 
and  yet  they  are  not  county  people.  A  neighbor  he  was, 
but  more  in  a  Scriptural  than  social  sense."  He  was 
hurting  her  purposely. 

She  made  a  protesting  motion  of  her  hand.  "No,  no, 
no,  do  not  be  so  small.  This  is  a  great  matter.  Do  a 
great  thing  now;  help  it  to  be  done  for  your  own  honor, 
for  England's  honor — for  a  good  man's  sake,  for  your 
country's  sake." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  An  instant  after- 
wards a  secretary  entered.  "A  message  from  the  Prime 
Minister,  sir."     He  handed  over  a  paper. 

"Will  you  excuse  me?"  he  asked  Hylda  suavely,  in 
his  eyes  the  enigmatical  look  that  had  chilled  her  so  often 
before.  She  felt  that  her  appeal  had  been  useless.  She 
prepared  to  leave  the  room.  He  took  her  hand,  kissed 
it  gallantly,  and  showed  her  out.  It  was  his  way — too 
civil  to  be  real. 

Blindly  she  made  her  way  to  her  room.  Inside,  she 
suddenly  swayed  and  sank  fainting  to  the  ground,  as 
Kate  Heaver  ran  forward  to  her.  Kate  saw  the  letter 
in  the  clenched  hand.  Loosening  it,  she  read  two  or 
three  sentences  with  a  gasp.  They  contained  Tom 
Lacey's  appeal  for  David.  She  lifted  Hylda's  head  to 
her  shoulder  with  endearing  words,  and  chafed  the  cold 
hands,  murmuring  to  herself  the  while. 


XXIV 

THE    QUESTIONER 

"What  has  thee  come  to  say?" 

Sitting  in  his  high-backed  chair,  Luke  Claridge  seemed 
a  part  of  its  dignified  severity.  In  the  sparsely  furnished 
room  with  its  uncarpeted  floor,  its  plain  teak  table,  its 
high  wainscoting  and  undecorated  walls,  the  old  man 
had  the  look  of  one  who  belonged  to  some  ancient  con- 
sistory, a  judge  whose  piety  would  march  with  an  au- 
sterity that  would  save  a  human  soul  by  destroying  the 
body,  if  need  be. 

A  crisis  had  come,  vaguely  foreseen,  sombrely  eluded. 
A  questioner  was  before  him  who,  poor,  unheeded,  an 
ancient  victim  of  vice,  could  yet  wield  a  weapon  whose 
sweep  of  wounds  would  be  wide.  Stern  and  masterful 
as  he  looked  in  his  arid  isolation,  beneath  all  was  a  shak- 
ing anxiety. 

He  knew  well  what  the  old  chairmaker  had  come  to 
say,  but,  in  the  prologue  of  the  struggle  before  him,  he 
was  unwittingly  manoeuvring  for  position. 

"Speak,"  he  added  presently,  as  Soolsby  fumbled  in 
his  great  loose  pockets,  and  drew  forth  a  paper.  'What 
has  thee  to  say?" 

Without  a  word,  Soolsby  handed  over  the  paper,  but 
the  other  would  not  take  it. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  his  lips  growing  pale.  "Read 
— if  thee  can  read." 

The  gibe  in  the  last  words  made  the  color  leap  into 

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THE    WEAVERS 

Soolsby's  face,  and  a  fighting  look  came.  He  too  had 
staved  off  this  inevitable  hour,  had  dreaded  it,  but  now 
his  courage  shot  up  high. 

"Doost  think  I  have  forgotten  how  to  read  since  the 
day  I  put  my  hand  to  a  writing  you've  hid  so  long  from 
them  it  most  concerns  ?  Ay ,  I  can  read,  and  I  can  write, 
and  I  will  prove  that  I  can  speak  too  before  I've  done." 

"Read  —  read,"  rejoined  the  old  man  hoarsely,  his 
hands  tightly  gripping  the  chair-arm. 

"The  fever  caught  him  at  Shendy — that  is  the  place — " 

"  He  is  not  dead — David  is  not  dead  ?"  came  the  sharp, 
pained  interruption.  The  old  man's  head  strained  for- 
ward, his  eyes  were  misty  and  dazed. 

Soolsby's  face  showed  no  pity  for  the  other's  anxiety; 
it  had  a  kind  of  triumph  in  it.  "Nay,  he  is  living,"  he 
answered.  "He  got  well  of  the  fever,  and  came  to 
Cairo,  but  he's  off  again  into  the  desert.  It's  the  third 
time.  You  can't  be  tempting  Providence  forever.  This 
paper  here  says  it's  too  big  a  job  for  one  man — like 
throwing  a  good  life  away.  Here  in  England  is  his 
place,  it  says.  And  so  say  I;  and  so  I  have  come  to 
say,  and  to  hear  you  say  so,  too.  What  is  he  there? 
One  man  against  a  million.  What  put  it  in  his  head 
that  he  thinks  he  can  do  it?" 

His  voice  became  lower;  he  fixed  his  eyes  meaningly 
on  the  other.  "When  a  man's  life  got  a  twist  at  the 
start,  no  wonder  it  flies  off  madlike  to  do  the  thing  that 
isn't  to  be  done,  and  leave  undone  the  thing  that's 
here  for  it  to  do.  Doost  think  a  straight  line  could  come 
from  the  crooked  line  you  drew  for  him?" 

"He  is  safe— he  is  well  and  strong  again?"  asked  the 
old  man  painfully.  Suddenly  he  reached  out  a  hand 
for  the  paper.  "Let  me  read,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  scarce 
above  a  whisper. 

He  essayed  to  take  the  paper  calmly,  but  it  trembled 
in  his  hands.     He  spread  it  out  and  fumbled  for  his 

292 


THE    WEAVERS 

glasses,  but  could  not  find  them,  and  he  gazed  helplessly 
at  the  page  before  him.  Soolsby  took  the  paper  from 
him  and  read  slowly: 

"...  Claridge  Pasha  has  done  good  work  in  Egypt, 
but  he  is  a  generation  too  soon,  it  may  be  two  or  three 
too  soon.  We  can  but  regard  this  fresh  enterprise  as  a 
temptation  to  Fate  to  take  from  our  race  one  of  the 
most  promising  spirits  and  vital  personalities  which  this 
generation  has  produced.  It  is  a  forlorn  hope.  Most 
Englishman  familiar  with  Claridge  Pasha's  life  and  aims 
will  ask—" 

An  exclamation  broke  from  the  old  man.  In  the 
pause  which  followed  he  said:  "It  was  none  of  my  doing. 
He  went  to  Egypt  against  my  will." 

"Ay,  so  many  a  man's  said  that's  not  wanted  to  look 
his  own  acts  straight  in  the  face.  If  Our  Man  had  been 
started  different,  if  he'd  started  in  the  path  where  God 
A'mighty  dropped  him,  and  not  in  the  path  Luke  Clar- 
idge chose,  would  he  have  been  in  Egypt  to-day  wearing 
out  his  life  ?  He's  not  making  carpets  there,  he's  only 
beating  them." 

The  homely  illustration  drawn  from  the  business  in 
which  he  had  been  interested  so  many  years  went  home 
to  Claridge's  mind.  He  shrank  back,  and  sat  rigid,  his 
brows  drawing  over  the  eyes,  till  they  seemed  sunk  in 
caverns  of  the  head.  Suddenly  Soolsby's  voice  rose 
angrily.  Luke  Claridge  seemed  so  remorseless  and  un- 
yielding, so  set  in  his  vanity  and  self-will !  Soolsby  mis- 
read the  rigid  look  in  the  face,  the  pale  sternness.  He 
did  not  know  that  there  had  suddenly  come  upon  Luke 
Claridge  the  full  consciousness  of  an  agonizing  truth — 
that  all  he  had  done  where  David  was  concerned  had 
been  a  mistake.  The  hard  look,  the  sternness,  were 
the  signals  of  a  soul  challenging  itself. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"Ay,  you've  had  your  own  will,"  cried  Soolsby  merci- 
lessly.    "You've  said  to  God  A 'mighty  that  He  wasn't 
able  to  work  out  to  a  good  end  what  He'd  let  happen; 
and  so  you'd  do  His  work  for  Him.     You  kept  the  lad 
hid  away  from  the  people  that  belonged  to  him,  you 
kept  him  out  of  his  own,  and  let  others  take  his  birth- 
right.    You   put   a   shame   upon   him,   hiding  who   his 
father   and   his   father's   people   were,  and   you   put  a 
shame  upon  her  that  lies  in  the  graveyard — as  sweet 
a  lass,  as  good,  as  ever  lived   on  earth.     Ay,  a  shame 
and   a  scandal!     For   your   eyes  were   shut   always  to 
the    sidelong    looks,  your  ears  never  heard  the  things 
people  said — 'A  good-for-nothing  ship-captain,  a  scamp 
and  a  ne'er  -do-  weel,  one  that  had  a  lass  at  every  port, 
and,  maybe,  wives  too ;   one  that  none  knew  or  ever  had 
seen — a  pirate  maybe,  or  a  slave-dealer,  or  a  jail-bird,  for 
all  they  knew!     Married — oh  yes,  married  right  enough, 
but  nothing  else — not  even  a  home.     Just  a  ring  on  the 
finger,  and  then,  beyond  and  away/'     Around  her  life  that 
brought  into  the  world  our  lad  yonder  you  let  a  cloud 
draw  down;  and  you  let  it  draw  round  his,  too,  for  he 
didn't  even  bear  his  father's  name,  much  less  knew  who 
his  father  was — or  live  in  his  father's  home,  or  come 
by  his  own  in  the  end.     You  gave  the  lad  shame  and 
scandal.     Do  you  think  he  didn't  feel  it,  was  it  much  or 
little?     He  wasn't  walking  in  the  sun,  but — " 

"Mercy!  Mercy!"  broke  in  the  old  man,  his  hand  be- 
fore his  eyes.  He  was  thinking  of  Mercy  his  daughter, 
of  the  words  she  had  said  to  him  when  she  died,  "Set 
him  in  the  sun,  father,  where  God  can  find  him,"  and  her 
name  now  broke  from  his  lips. 

Soolsby  misunderstood.  "Ay,  there'll  be  mercy  when 
right's  been  done  Our  Man,  and  not  till  then.  I've  held 
my  tongue  for  half  a  lifetime,  but  I'll  speak  now  and  bring 
him  back.  Ay,  he  shall  come  back  and  take  the  place 
that  is  his,  and  all  that  belongs  to  him.     That  lordship 

294 


THE    WEAVERS 

yonder — let  him  go  out  into  the  world  and  make  his 
place  as  the  Egyptian  did.  He's  had  his  chance  to  help 
Our  Man,  and  he  has  only  hurt,  not  helped  him.  We've 
had  enough  of  his  second-best  lordship  and  his  ways." 

The  old  man's  face  was  painful  in  its  stricken  still- 
ness now.  He  had  regained  control  of  himself,  his  brain 
had  recovered  greatly  from  its  first  suffusion  of  excite- 
ment. 

"How  does  thee  know  my  lord  yonder  has  hurt  and 
not  helped  him?"  he  asked  in  an  even  voice,  his  lips 
tightening,  however.     "How  does  thee  know  it  surely?" 

"From  Kate  Heaver,  my  lady's  maid.  My  lady's  ill- 
ness— what  was  it?  Because  she  would  help  Our  Man, 
and,  out  of  his  hatred,  yonder  second  son  said  that  to 
her  which  no  woman  can  bear  that's  a  true  woman;  and 
then,  what  with  a  chill  and  fever,  she's  been  yonder 
ailing  these  weeks  past.  She  did  what  she  could  for  him, 
and  her  husband  did  what  he  could  against  him." 

The  old  man  settled  back  in  his  chair  again.  "Thee 
has  kept  silent  all  these  years  ?  Thee  has  never  told  any 
that  lives?" 

"I  gave  my  word  to  her  that  died — to  our  Egyptian's 
mother — that  I  would  never  speak  unless  you  gave  me 
leave  to  speak,  or  if  you  should  die  before  me.  It  was 
but  a  day  before  the  lad  was  born.  So  have  I  kept  my 
word.  But  now  you  shall  speak.  Ay,  then,  but  you 
shall  speak,  or  I'll  break  my  word  to  her,  to  do  right  by 
her  son.  She  herself  would  speak  if  she  was  here,  and 
I'll  answer  her,  if  ever  I  see  her  after  Purgatory,  for 
speaking  now." 

The  old  man  drew  himself  up  in  his  chair  as  though 
in  pain,  and  said  very  slowly,  almost  thickly:  "I  shall 
answer  also  for  all  I  did.  The  spirit  moved  me.  He  is 
of  my  blood — his  mother  was  dead — in  his  veins  is  the 
blood  that  runs  in  mine.  His  father — aristocrat,  spend- 
thrift, adventurer,  renegade,  who  married  her  in  secret, 
20  295 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  left  her,  bidding  her  return  to  me,  until  he  came 
again,  and  she  to  bear  him  a  child — was  he  fit  to  bring 
up  the  boy?" 

He  breathed  heavily,  his  face  became  wan  and  hag- 
gard, as  he  continued:  "Restless  on  land  or  sea,  forever 
seeking  some  new  thing,  and  when  he  found  it,  and  saw 
what  was  therein,  he  turned  away  forgetful.  God  put  it 
into  my  heart  to  abjure  him  and  the  life  around  him. 
The  Voice  made  me  rescue  the  child  from  a  life  empty  and 
bare  and  heartless  and  proud.  When  he  returned,  and 
my  child  was  in  her  grave,  he  came  to  me  in  secret;  he 
claimed  the  child  of  that  honest  lass  whom  he  had  mar- 
ried under  a  false  name.  I  held  my  hand  lest  I  should 
kill  him,  man  of  peace  as  I  am.  Even  his  father — 
Quaker  though  he  once  became^did  we  not  know  ere 
the  end  that  he  had  no  part  or  lot  with  us,  that  he  but 
experimented  with  his  soul,  as  with  all  else?  Experi- 
ment— experiment — experiment,  until  at  last  an  Egling- 
ton  went  exploring  in  my  child's  heart,  and  sent  her  to 
her  grave — the  God  of  Israel  be  her  rest  and  refuge! 
What  should  such  high-placed  folk  do  stooping  out  of 
their  sphere  to  us  who  walk  in  plain  paths  ?  What  have 
we  in  common  with  them?  My  soul  would  have  none 
of  them — masks  of  men,  the  slaves  of  riches  and  titles, 
and  tyrants  over  the  poor!" 

His  voice  grew  hoarse  and  high,  and  his  head  bent 
forward.  He  spoke  as  though  forgetful  of  Soolsby's 
presence.  "As  the  East  is  from  the  West,  so  were  we 
separate  from  these  lovers  of  this  world,  the  self-in- 
dulgent, the  hard-hearted,  the  proud.  I  chose  for  the 
child  that  he  should  stay  with  me  and  not  go  to  him,  to 
remain  among  his  own  people  and  his  own  class.  He  was 
a  sinister,  an  evil  man.  Was  the  child  to  be  trusted  with 
him?" 

'The   child  was  his  own  child,"   broke    in    Soolsby. 
'Your  daughter  was  his  lady — the  Countess  of  Egling- 

296 


THE    WEAVERS 

ton !  Not  all  the  Quakers  in  heaven  or  earth  could  alter 
that.  His  first-born  son  is  Earl  of  Eglington,  and  has 
been  so  these  years  past;  and  you,  nor  his  second-best 
lordship  there,  nor  all  the  courts  in  England  can  alter 
that.  .  .  .  Ay,  I've  kept  my  peace,  but  I  will  speak  out 
now.  I  was  with  the  Earl — James  Fetherdon  he  called 
himself — when  he  married  her  that's  gone  to  heaven,  if 
any  ever  went  to  heaven;  and  I  can  prove  all.  There's 
proof  aplenty,  and  'tis  a  pity,  ay,  God's  pity!  that  'twas 
not  used  long  ago.  Well  I  knew,  as  the  years  passed, 
that  the  Earl's  heart  was  with  David,  but  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  face  it  all,  so  worn  away  was  the  man  in  him. 
Ah,  if  the  lad  had  always  been  with  him — who  can  tell  ? 
— he  might  have  been  different!  Whether  so  or  not,  it 
was  the  lad's  right  to  take  his  place  his  mother  gave  him, 
let  be  whatever  his  father  was.  'Twas  a  cruel  thing 
done  to  him.  His  own  was  his  own,  to  run  his  race  as 
God  A'mighty  had  laid  the  hurdles,  not  as  Luke  Clar- 
idge  willed.  I'm  sick  of  seeing  yonder  fellow  in  Our 
Man's  place,  he  that  will  not  give  him  help,  when  he 
may;  he  that  would  see  him  die  like  a  dog  in  the  desert, 
brother  or  no  brother — " 

"He  does  not  know — Lord  Eglington  does  not  know 
the  truth?"  interposed  the  old  man  in  a  heavy  whisper. 

"He  does  not  know  but,  if  he  knew,  would  it  matter  to 
him  ?  So  much  the  more  would  he  see  Our  Man  die 
yonder  in  the  sands.  I  know  the  breed.  I  know  him 
yonder,  the  skim-milk  lord.  There  is  no  blood  of  justice, 
no  milk  of  kindness  in  him.  Do  you  think  his  father  that 
I  friended  in  this  thing — did  he  ever  give  me  a  penny,  or 
aught  save  that  hut  on  the  hill  that  was  not  worth  a 
pound  a  year?  Did  he  ever  do  aught  to  show  that  he 
remembered  ? — Like  father  like  son  ?  I  wanted  naught. 
I  held  my  peace,  not  for  him,  but  for  her — for  the  promise 
I  made  her  when  she  smiled  at  me  and  said,  '//  /  shouldn't 
be  seeing  thee  again,  Soolsby,  remember;  and  if  thee  can 

297 


THE    WEAVERS 

ever  prove  a  friend  to  the  child  that  is  to  be,  prove  itF 
And  I  will  prove  it  now.  He  must  come  back  to  his 
own.  Right's  right,  and  I  will  have  it  so.  More  brains 
you  may  have,  and  wealth  you  have,  but  not  more 
common  sense  than  any  common  man  like  me.  If  the 
spirit  moved  you  to  hold  your  peace,  it  moves  me  to 
make  you  speak.  With  all  your  meek  face  you've  been 
a  hard,  stiff-necked  man,  a  tyrant  too,  and  as  much  an 
aristocrat  to  such  as  me  as  any  lord  in  the  land.  But 
I've  drunk  the  mug  of  silence  to  the  bottom.     I've — " 

He  stopped  short,  seeing  a  strange  look  come  over  the 
other's  face,  and  stepped  forward  quickly  as  the  old  man 
half  rose  from  his  chair,  murmuring  thickly. 

"Mercy — David,  my  lord,  come — !"  he  muttered,  and 
staggered,  and  fell  into  Soolsby's  arms. 

His  head  dropped  forward  on  his  breast,  and  with  a 
great  sigh  he  sank  into  unconsciousness.  Soolsby  laid 
him  on  a  couch,  and  ran  to  the  door  and  called  aloud  for 
help. 

The  man  of  silence  was  silent  indeed  now.  In  the 
room  where  paralysis  had  fallen  on  him  a  bed  was  brought, 
and  he  lay  nerveless  on  the  verge  of  a  still  deeper  silence. 
The  hours  went  by.  His  eyes  opened,  he  saw  and  rec- 
ognized them  all,  but  his  look  rested  only  on  Faith  and 
Soolsby;  and,  as  time  went  on,  these  were  the  only  faces 
to  which  he  gave  an  answering  look  of  understanding. 
Days  wore  away,  but  he  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

People  came  and  went  softly,  and  he  gave  no  heed. 
There  was  ever  a  trouble  in  his  eyes  when  they  were  open. 
Only  when  Soolsby  came  did  it  seem  to  lessen.  Faith 
saw  this,  and  urged  Soolsby  to  sit  by  him.  She  had 
questioned  much  concerning  what  had  happened  before 
the  stroke  fell,  but  Soolsby  said  only  that  the  old  man 
had  been  greatly  troubled  about  David.  Once  Lady 
Eglington,  frail  and  gentle  and  sympathetic,  came,  but 

298 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  trouble  deepened  in  his  eyes,  and  the  lids  closed  over 
them,  so  that  he  might  not  see  her  face. 

When  she  had  gone,  Soolsby,  who  had  been  present 
and  had  interpreted  the  old  man's  look  according  to  a 
knowledge  all  his  own,  came  over  to  the  bed,  leaned 
down,  and  whispered,  "I  will  speak  now." 

Then  the  eyes  opened,  and  a  smile  faintly  flickered  at 
the  mouth. 

"I  will  speak  now,"  Soolsby  said  again  into  the  old 
man's  ear. 


XXV 

THE    VOICE    THROUGH    THE    DOOR 

That  night  Soolsby  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  lighted 
laboratory  of  the  Cloistered  House  where  Lord  Eglington 
was  at  work,  opened  it,  peered  in,  and  stepped  inside. 

With  a  glass  retort  in  his  hand,  Eglington  faced  him. 
''What's  this — what  do  you  want?"  he  demanded. 

"I  want  to  try  an  experiment,"  answered  Soolsby 
grimly. 

"Ah,  a  scientific  turn!"  rejoined  Eglington  coolly — 
looking  at  him  narrowly,  however.  He  was  conscious 
of  danger  of  some  kind. 

Then  for  a  minute  neither  spoke.  Now  that  Soolsby 
had  come  to  the  moment  for  which  he  had  waited  for 
so  many  years,  the  situation  was  not  what  he  had  so 
often  prefigured.  The  words  he  had  chosen  long  ago 
were  gone  from  his  memory;  in  his  ignorance  of  what 
had  been  a  commonplace  to  Soolsby's  dark  reflection 
so  long,  the  man  he  had  meant  to  bring  low  stood  up 
before  him  on  his  own  ground,  powerful  and  unabashed. 

Eglington  wore  a  blue  smock,  and  over  his  eyes  was 
a  green  shade  to  protect  them  from  the  light,  but  they 
peered  sharply  out  at  the  chairmaker,  and  were  boldly 
alive  to  the  unexpected.  He  was  no  physical  coward 
— and,  in  any  case,  what  reason  had  he  for  physical  fear 
in  the  presence  of  this  man  weakened  by  vice  and  age  ? 
Yet  ever  since  he  was  a  boy  there  had  existed  between 
them  an  antagonism  which  had  shown  itself  in  many 

300 


THE    WEAVERS 

ways.     There  had  ever  been  something  sinister  in  Sools- 
by's  attitude  to  his  father  and  himself. 

Eglington  vaguely  knew  that  now  he  was  to  face  some 
trial  of  mind  and  nerve,  but  with  great  deliberation  he 
continued  dropping  liquid  from  a  bottle  into  the  glass  re- 
tort he  carried,  his  eyes,  however,  watchful  of  his  visitor, 
who  involuntarily  stared  around  the  laboratory. 

It  was  fifteen  years  since  Soolsby  had  been  in  this 
room;  and  then  he  had  faced  this  man's  father  with  a 
challenge  on  his  tongue  such  as  he  meant  to  speak  now. 
The  smell  of  the  chemicals,  the  carboys  filled  with  acids, 
the  queer  tapering  glasses  with  engraved  measurements 
showing  against  the  colored  liquids,  the  great  blue  bot- 
tles, the  mortars  and  pestles,  the  microscopic  instru- 
ments— all  brought  back  the  far-off,  acrid  scene  between 
the  late  Earl  and  himself.  Nothing  had  changed,  ex- 
cept that  now  there  were  wires  which  gave  out  hissing 
sparks,  electrical  instruments  invented  since  the  earlier 
day;  except  that  this  man,  gently  dropping  acids  into 
the  round  white  bottle  upon  a  crystal  which  gave  off 
musty  fumes,  was  bolder,  stronger,  had  more  at  stake 
than  the  other. 

Slowly  Eglington  moved  back  to  put  the  retort  on  a 
long  table  against  the  wall,  and  Soolsby  stepped  forward 
till  he  stood  where  the  electri  sparks  were  gently  hiss- 
ing about  him.  Now  Eglington  leaned  against  the  table, 
poured  some  alcohol  on  his  fingers  to  cleanse  the  acid 
from  them,  and  wiped  them  with  a  piece  of  linen,  while' 
he  looked  inquiringly  at  Soolsby.  Still,  Soolsby  did  not 
speak.  Eglington  lit  a  cigarette,  and  took  away  the  shade 
from  his  eyes. 

"Well,  now,  what  is  your  experiment?"  he  asked, 
"and  why  bring  it  here?  Didn't  you  know  the  way 
to  the  stables  or  the  scullery?" 

"I  knew  my  way  better  here,"  answered  Soolsby, 
steadying  himself. 

301 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Ah,  you've  been  here  often?"  asked  Eglington  non- 
chalantly, yet  feeling  for  the  cause  of  this  midnight 
visit. 

"It  is  fifteen  years  since  I  was  here,  my  lord.  Then 
I  came  to  see  the  Earl  of  Eglington." 

"And  so  history  repeats  itself  every  fifteen  years! 
You  came  to  see  the  Earl  of  Eglington  then;  you  come 
to  see  the  Earl  of  Eglington  again — after  fifteen  years!" 

"I  come  to  speak  with  him  that's  called  the  Earl  of 
Eglington." 

Eglington's  eyes  half  closed,  as  though  the  light  hurt 
them.  "That  sounds  communistic,  or  is  it  pure  Quak- 
erism? I  believe  they  used  to  call  my  father  Friend 
Robert  till  he  backslided.  But  you  are  not  a  Quaker, 
Soolsby,  so  why  be  too  familiar  ?  Or  is  it  merely  the 
way  of  the  old  family  friend?" 

"I  knew  your  father  before  you  were  born,  my  lord 
— he  troosted  me  then." 

"So  long?  And  fifteen  years  ago — here?"  He  felt 
a  menace,  vague  and  penetrating.  His  eyes  were  hard 
and  cruel. 

"It  wasn't  a  question  of  troost  then;  'twas  one  of  right 
or  wrong — naught  else." 

"Ah — and  who  was  right,  and  what  was  wrong?" 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door  leading 
into  the  living  part  of  the  house,  and  the  butler  entered. 

"The  doctor — -he  has  used  up  all  his  oxygen,  my  lord. 
He  begs  to  know  if  you  can  give  him  some  for  Mr.  Clar- 
idge.     Mr.  Claridge  is  bad  to-night." 

A  sinister  smile  passed  over  Eglington's  face.  "Who 
brings  the  message,  Garry?" 

"A  servant — Miss  Claridge's,  my  lord." 

An  ironical  look  came  into  Eglington's  eyes;  then 
they  softened  a  little.  In  a  moment  he  placed  a  jar  of 
oxygen  in  the  butler's  hands. 

"My  compliments  to  Miss  Claridge,  and  I  am  happy 

302 


THE    WEAVERS 

to  find  my  laboratory  of  use  at  last  to  my  neighbors,"  he 
said,  and  the  door  closed  upon  the  man. 

Then  he  came  back  thoughtfully.  Soolsby  had  not 
moved. 

"Do  you  know  what  oxygen's  for,  Soolsby?"  he  asked 
quizzically. 

"No,  my  lord,  I've  never  heerd  tell  of  it." 

"Well,  if  you  brought  the  top  of  Ben  Lomond  to 
the  bottom  of  a  coal-mine — breath  to  the  breathless — 
that's  it." 

"You've  been  doing  that  to  Mr.  Claridge,  my  lord?'' 

"A  little  oxygen  more  or  less  makes  all  the  difference 
to  a  man — it  probably  will  to  neighbor  Claridge,  Soolsby; 
and  so  I've  done  him  a  good  turn." 

A  grim  look  passed  over  Soolsby 's  face.  "It's  the 
first,  I'm  thinking,  my  lord,  and  none  too  soon;  and  it  '11 
be  the  last,  I'm  thinking,  too.  It's  many  a  year  since 
this  house  was  neighborly  to  that." 

Eglington's  eyes  almost  closed,  as  he  studied  the  other's 
face;  then  he  said:  "I  asked  you  a  little  while  ago  who 
was  right  and  what  was  wrong  when  you  came  to  see 
my  father  here  fifteen  years  ago.     Well?" 

Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  into  his  eyes,  and  it 
seemed  to  course  through  his  veins  like  some  anaesthetic, 
for  he  grew  very  still,  and  a  minute  passed  before  he 
added  quietly:  "Was  it  a  thing  between  my  father  and 
Luke  Claridge?  There  was  trouble  —  well,  what  was 
it?"  All  at  once  he  seemed  to  rise  above  the  vague 
anxiety  that  possessed  him,  and  he  fingered  inquiringly 
a  long  tapering  glass  of  acids  on  the  bench  beside  him. 
'There's  been  so  much  mystery,  and  I  suppose  it  was 
nothing,  after  all.  What  was  it  all  about  ?  Or  do  you 
know — eh?  Fifteen  years  ago  you  came  to  see  my 
father,  and  now  you  have  come  to  see  me — all  in  the 
light  o'  the  moon,  as  it  were;  like  a  villain  in  a  play. 
Ah,  yes,  you  said  it  was  to  make  an  experiment — yet 

303 


THE    WEAVERS 

you  didn't  know  what  oxygen  was!  It's  foolish  making 
experiments,  unless  you  know  what  you  are  playing 
with,  Soolsby.  See,  here  are  two  glasses."  He  held 
them  up.  "If  I  poured  one  into  the  other,  we'd  have 
an  experiment — and  you  and  I  would  be  picked  up  in 
fragments  and  carried  away  in  a  basket.  And  that 
wouldn't  be  a  successful  experiment,  Soolsby." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  my  lord.  Some  things  would 
be  put  right  then." 

"H'm,  there  would  be  a  new  Under-Secretary  for  For- 
eign Affairs,  and — " 

"And  Claridge  Pasha  would  come  back  from"  Egypt, 
my  lord,"  was  the  sharp  interjection.  Suddenly  Sools- 
by's  anger  flared  up ,  his  hands  twitched.  ' '  You  had  your 
chance  to  be  a  friend  to  him,  my  lord.  You  promised 
her  yonder  at  the  Red  Mansion  that  you  would  help  him 
— him  that  never  wronged  you,  him  you  always  wronged, 
and  you  haven't  lifted  hand  to  help  him  in  his  danger. 
A  moment  since  you  asked  me  who  was  right  and  what 
was  wrong.  You  shall  know.  If  you  had  treated  him 
right,  I'd  have  held  my  peace,  and  kept  my  word  to 
her  that's  gone  these  thirty-odd  years.  I'll  hold  it  no 
more,  and  so  I  told  Luke  Claridge.  I've  been  silent, 
but  not  for  your  father's  sake  or  yours,  for  he  was  as 
cruel  as  you,  with  no  heart,  and  a  conscience  like  a  pin's 
head,  not  big  enough  for  use.  .  .  .  Ay,  you  shall  know! 
You  are  no  more  the  Earl  of  Eglington  than  me.  The 
Earl  of  Eglington  is  your  elder  brother,  called  David 
Claridge." 

As  Soolsby's  words  poured  forth  passionately,  weighty, 
Eglington  listened  like  one  in  a  dream.  Since  this  man 
entered  the  laboratory  fifty  reasons  for  his  coming  had 
flashed  across  his  mind;  he  had  prepared  himself  at 
many  corners  for  defence,  he  had  rallied  every  mental  re- 
source, he  had  imagined  a  dozen  dangerous  events  which 
his  father  and  Luke  Claridge  shared — with  the  balance 

3°4 


THE    WEAVERS 

against  his  father;  but  this  thing  was  beyond  all  specu- 
lation. Yet  on  the  instant  the  words  were  said  he  had 
a  conviction  of  their  inevitable  truth.  Even  as  they 
were  uttered,  kaleidoscopic  memories  rushed  in,  and 
David's  face,  figure,  personal  characteristics,  flashed  be- 
fore him.  He  saw,  he  felt,  the  likeness  to  his  father  and 
himself;  a  thousand  things  were  explained  that  could 
only  be  explained  by  this  fatal  fact  launched  at  him 
without  warning.  It  was  as  though,  fully  armed  for  his 
battle  of  life,  he  had  suddenly  been  stripped  of  armor 
and  every  weapon,  and  left  naked  on  the  field.  But  he 
had  the  mind  of  the  gamester,  and  the  true  gamester's 
self-control.  He  had  taken  chances  so  often  that  the 
tornado  of  ill-luck  left  him  standing. 

"What  proof  have  you?"  he  asked  quietly. 

Soolsby's  explicit  answer  left  no  ground  for  doubt. 
He  had  not  asked  the  question  with  any  idea  of  finding 
gaps  in  the  evidence,  but  rather'  to  find  if  there  were  a 
chance  for  resistance,  of  escape,  anywhere.  The  mar- 
riage certificate  existed;  identification  of  James  Fether- 
don  with  his  father  could  be  established  by  Soolsby  and 
Luke  Claridge. 

Soolsby  and  Luke  Claridge!  Luke  Claridge — he  could 
not  help  but  smile  cynically,  for  he  was  composed  and 
calculating  now.  But  a  few  minutes  ago  he  had  sent  a 
jar  of  oxygen  to  keep  Luke  Claridge  alive!  But  for  it 
one  enemy  to  his  career,  to  his  future,  would  be  gone. 
He  did  not  shrink  from  the  thought.  Born  a  gentleman, 
there  were  in  him  some  degenerate  characteristics  which 
heart  could  not  drown  or  temperament  refine.  Selfish- 
ness was  inwoven  with  every  fibre  of  his  nature. 

Now,  as  he  stood  with  eyes  fixed  on  Soolsby,  the  world 
seemed  to  narrow  down  to  this  laboratory.  It  was  a 
vacuum  where  sensation  was  suspended  and  the  million 
facts  of  ordinary  existence  disappeared  into  inactivity. 
There  was  a  fine  sense  of  proportion  in  it  all.     Only  the 

3°5 


THE    WEAVERS 

bare  essential  things  that  concerned  him  remained: 
David  Claridge  was  the  Earl  of  Eglington,  this  man  be- 
fore him  knew,  Luke  Claridge  knew;  and  there  was  one 
thing  yet  to  know!  When  he  spoke  his  voice  showed 
no  excitement — the  tones  were  even,  colorless. 

"Does  he  know?"  In  these  words  he  acknowledged 
that  he  believed  the  tale  told  him. 

Soolsby  had  expected  a  different  attitude;  he  was  not 
easier  in  mind  because  his  story  had  not  been  challenged. 
He  blindly  felt  working  in  the  man  before  him  a  power- 
ful mind,  more  powerful  because  it  faced  the  truth  un- 
flinchingly; but  he  knew  that  this  did  not  mean  calm 
acceptance  of  the  consequences.  He,  not  Eglington,  was 
dazed  and  embarrassed,  was  not  equal  to  the  situation. 
He  moved  uneasily,  changed  his  position. 

"Does  he  know?"  Eglington  questioned  again  quiet- 
ly. There  was  no  need  for  Eglington  to  explain  who 
he  was. 

"Of  course  he  does  not  know — I  said  so.  If  he  knew, 
do  you  think  he'd  be  in  Egypt  and  you  here,  my  lord?" 

Eglington  was  very  quiet.  His  intellect  more  than 
his  passions  were  now  at  work. 

"I  am  not  sure.  You  never  can  tell.  This  might 
not  mean  much  to  him.  He  has  got  his  work  cut  out; 
he  wasn't  brought  up  to  this.  What  he  has  done  is  in 
line  with  the  life  he  has  lived  as  a  pious  Quaker.  What 
good  would  it  do  to  bring  him  back?  I  have  been 
brought  up  to  it ;  I  am  used  to  it ;  I  have  worked  things 
out  'according  to  the  state  of  life  to  which  I  was  called.' 
Take  what  I've  always  had  away  from  me,  and  I  am 
crippled;  give  him  what  he  never  had,  and  it  doesn't 
work  into  his  scheme.  It  would  do  him  no  good  and 
me  harm —  Where's  the  use?  Besides,  I  am  still  my 
father's  son.  Don't  you  see  how  unreasonable  you  are  ? 
Luke  Claridge  was  right.  He  knew  that  he  and  his  be- 
longed to  a  different  sphere.     He  didn't  speak.     Why 

306 


THE    WEAVERS 

do  you  speak  now  after  all  these  years  when  we  are  all 
set  in  our  grooves?     It's  silly  to  disturb  us,  Soolsby." 

The  voice  was  low,  persuasive,  and  searching;  the 
mind  was  working  as  it  had  never  worked  before,  to 
achieve  an  end  by  peaceful  means,  when  war  seemed 
against  him.  And  all  the  time  he  was  fascinated  by  the 
fact  that  Soolsby's  hand  was  within  a  few  inches  of  a 
live  electric  wire,  which,  if  he  touched,  would  probably 
complete  "the  experiment"  he  had  come  to  make;  and 
what  had  been  the  silence  of  a  generation  would  con- 
tinue indefinitely.  It  was  as  though  Fate  had  deliber- 
ately tempted  him  and  arranged  these  necessary  condi- 
tions, for  Soolsby's  feet  were  in  a  little  pool  of  liquid 
which  had  been  spilled  on  the  floor — the  experiment 
was  exact  and  real. 

For  minutes  he  had  watched  Soolsby's  hand  near  the 
wire — had  watched  as  he  talked,  and  his  talk  was  his 
argument  for  non-interference  against  warning  the  man 
who  had  come  to  destroy  him  and  his  career.  Why  had 
Fate  placed  that  hand  so  near  the  wire  there,  and  pro- 
vided the  other  perfect  conditions  for  tragedy?  Why 
should  he  intervene  ?  It  would  never  have  crossed  his 
mind  to  do  Soolsby  harm,  yet  here,  as  the  man's  arm 
was  stretched  out  to  strike  him,  Fate  offered  an  escape. 
Luke  Claridge  was  stricken  with  paralysis,  no  doubt 
would  die;  Soolsby  alone  stood  in  his  way. 

"You  see,  Soolsby,  it  has  gone  on  too  long,"  he  added, 
in  a  low,  penetrating  tone.  "It  would  be  a  crime  to 
alter  things  now.  Give  him  the  earldom  and  the  estates, 
and  his  work  in  Egypt  goes  to  pieces;  he  will  be  spoiled 
for  all  he  wants  to  do.  I've  got  my  faults,  but,  on  the 
whole,  I'm  useful,  and  I  play  my  part  here,  as  I  was  born 
to  it,  as  well  as  most.  Anyhow,  it's  no  robbery  for  me 
to  have  what  has  been  mine  by  every  right  except  the 
accident  of  being  born  after  him.  I  think  you'll  see  that 
you  will  do  a  good  thing  to  let  it  all  be.     Luke  Claridge, 

3o7 


THE    WEAVERS 

if  he  was  up  and  well,  wouldn't  thank  you  for  it — have 
you  got  any  right  to  give  him  trouble,  too?  Besides, 
I've  saved  his  life  to-night,  and  .  .  .  and  perhaps  I  might 
save  yours,  Soolsby,  if  it  was  in  danger." 

Soolsby's  hand  had  moved  slightly.  It  was  only  an 
inch  from  the  wire.  For  an  instant  the  room  was  ter- 
ribly still. 

An  instant,  and  it  might  be  too  late.  An  instant,  and 
Soolsby  would  be  gone.  Eglington  watched  the  hand 
which  had  been  resting  on  the  table  turn  slowly  over  to 
the  wire.  Why  should  he  intervene?  Was  it  his  busi- 
ness ?  This  thing  was  not  his  doing.  Destiny  had  laid 
the  train  of  circumstance  and  accident,  and  who  was 
stronger  than  Destiny?  In  spite  of  himself  his  eyes 
fixed  themselves  on  Soolsby's  hand.  It  was  but  a  hair's 
breadth  from  the  wire.     The  end  would  come  now. 

Suddenly  a  voice  was  heard  outside  the  door.  ' '  Egling- 
ton!" it  called. 

Soolsby  started,  his  hand  drew  spasmodically  away 
from  the  wire,  and  he  stepped  back  quickly. 

The  door  opened — and  Hylda  entered. 

"Mr.  Claridge  is  dead,  Eglington,"  she  said. 

Destiny  had  decided. 


XXVI 


I    OWE    YOU    NOTHING  " 


Beside  the  grave  under  the  willow-tree  another  grave 
had  been  made.  It  was  sprinkled  with  the  fallen  leaves 
of  autumn.  In  the  Red  Mansion  Faith's  delicate  figure 
moved  forlornly  among  relics  of  an  austere,  beloved  fig- 
ure vanished  from  the  apricot-garden  and  the  primitive 
simplicity  of  wealth  combined  with  narrow  thought. 

Since  her  father's  death,  the  bereaved  girl  had  been 
occupied  by  matters  of  law  and  business,  by  affairs  of 
the  estate;  but  the  first  pressure  was  over,  long  letters 
had  been  written  to  David  which  might  never  reach  him ; 
and  now,  when  the  strain  was  withdrawn,  the  gentle 
mind  was  lost  in  a  gray  mist  of  quiet  suffering.  In 
Hamley  there  were  but  two  in  whom  she  had  any  real 
comfort  and  help  —  Lady  Eglington  and  the  old  chair- 
maker.  Of  an  afternoon  or  evening  one  or  the  other 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  long,  high- wainscoted  room,  where 
a  great  fire  burned,  or  in  the  fruitless  garden  where  the 
breeze  stirred  the  bare  branches. 

Almost  as  deep  a  quiet  brooded  in  the  Cloistered  House 
as  in  the  home  where  mourning  enjoined  movement  in 
a  minor  key.  Hylda  had  not  recovered  wholly  from 
the  illness  which  had  stricken  her  down  on  that  day  in 
London  when  she  had  sought  news  of  David  from  Egling- 
ton, at  such  cost  to  her  peace  and  health  and  happiness. 
Then  had  come  her  slow  convalescence  in  Hamley,  and 
long  days  of  loneliness,  in  which  Eglington  seemed  tc 

3°9 


THE    WEAVERS 

retreat  farther  and  farther  from  her  inner  life.  In- 
quiries had  poured  in  from  friends  in  town,  many  had 
asked  to  come  and  see  her;  flowers  came  from  one  or  two 
who  loved  her  benignly,  like  Lord  Windlehurst ;  and  now 
and  then  she  had  some  cheerful  friend  with  her  who 
cared  for  music  or  could  sing;  and  then  the  old  home 
rang;  but  she  was  mostly  alone,  and  Fglington  was  kept 
in  town  by  official  business  the  greater  part  of  each 
week.  She  did  not  gain  strength  as  quickly  as  she  ought 
to  have  done,  and  this  was  what  brought  the  Duchess 
of  Snowdon  down  on  a  special  mission  one  day  of  early 
November. 

Ever  since  the  night  she  had  announced  Luke  Claridge's 
death  to  Eglington,  had  discovered  Soolsby  with  him, 
had  seen  the  look  in  her  husband's  face  and  caught  the 
tension  of  the  moment  on  which  she  had  broken,  she 
had  been  haunted  by  a  hovering  sense  of  trouble.  What 
had  Soolsby  been  doing  in  the  laboratory  at  that  time 
of  night  ?  What  was  the  cause  of  this  secret  meeting  ? 
All  Hamley  knew — she  had  long  known — how  Luke 
Claridge  had  held  the  Cloistered  House  in  abhorrence, 
and  she  knew  also  that  Soolsby  worshipped  David  and 
Faith,  and,  whatever  the  cause  of  the  family  antipathy, 
championed  it.  She  was  conscious  of  a  shadow  some- 
where, and  behind  it  all  was  the  name  of  David's  father, 
James  Fetherdon.  That  last  afternoon  when  she  had 
talked  with  him,  and  he  had  told  her  of  his  life,  she  had 
recalled  the  name  as  one  she  had  seen  or  heard,  and  it 
had  floated  into  her  mind  at  last  that  she  had  seen  it 
among  the  papers  and  letters  of  the  late  Countess  of 
Eglington. 

As  the  look  in  Eglington's  face  the  night  she  came 
upon  him  and  Soolsby  in  the  laboratory  haunted  her, 
so  the  look  in  her  own  face  had  haunted  Soolsby.  Her 
voice  announcing  Luke  Claridge's  death  had  suddenly 
opened  up  a  new  situation  to  him.     It  stunned  him ;  and 

310 


THE    WEAVERS 

afterwards,  as  he  saw  Hylda  with  Faith  in  the  apricot- 
garden,  or  walking  in  the  grounds  of  the  Cloistered  House 
hour  after  hour  alone  or  with  her  maid,  he  became  vexed 
by  a  problem  greater  than  had  yet  perplexed  him.  It 
was  one  thing  to  turn  Eglington  out  of  his  lands  and 
home  and  title ;  it  was  another  thing  to  strike  this  beau- 
tiful being,  whose  smile  had  won  him  from  the  first, 
whose  voice,  had  he  but  known,  had  saved  his  life.  Per- 
haps the  truth  in  some  dim  way  was  conveyed  to  him, 
for  he  came  to  think  of  her  a  little  as  he  thought  of 
Faith. 

Since  the  moment  when  he  had  left  the  laboratory 
and  made  his  way  to  the  Red  Mansion,  he  and  Eglington 
had  never  met  face  to  face;  and  he  avoided  a  meeting. 
He  was  not  a  blackmailer,  he  had  no  personal  wrongs  to 
avenge,  he  had  not  sprung  the  bolt  of  secrecy  for  evil 
ends;  and  when  he  saw  the  possible  results  of  his  dis- 
closure, he  was  unnerved.  His  mind  had  seen  one  thing 
only,  the  rights  of  "Our  Man,"  the  wrong  that  had  been 
done  him  and  his  mother;  but  now  he  saw  how  the  sword 
of  justice  which  he  had  kept  by  his  hand  these  many 
years  would  cut  both  ways.  His  mind  was  troubled, 
too,  that  he  had  spoken  while  yet  Luke  Claridge  lived, 
and  so  broken  his  word  to  Mercy  Claridge.  If  he  had 
but  waited  till  the  old  man  died — but  one  brief  half- 
hour — -his  pledge  would  have  been  kept.  Nothing  had 
worked  out  wholly  as  he  expected.  The  heavens  had 
not  fallen.  The  "second-best  lordship"  still  came  and 
went,  the  wheels  went  round  as  usual.  There  was  no 
ehange;  yet,  as  he  sat  in  his  hut  and  looked  down  into 
the  grounds  of  the  Cloistered  House,  he  kept  saying  to 
himself: 

"It  had  to  be  told.  It's  for  my  lord  now.  He  knows 
the  truth.  I'll  wait  and  see.  It's  for  him  to  do  right 
by  Our  Man  that's  beyond  and  away." 

The  logic  and  fairness  of  this  position,  reached  after 
21  311 


THE    WEAVERS 

much  thinking,  comforted  him.  He  had  done  his  duty 
so  far.  If,  in  the  end,  the  "second-best  lordship"  failed 
to  do  his  part,  hid  the  truth  from  the  world,  refused  to 
do  right  by  his  half-brother,  the  true  Earl,  then  would  be 
time  to  act  again.  Also  he  waited  for  word  out  of 
Egypt;  and  he  had  a  superstitious  belief  that  David 
would  return,  that  any  day  might  see  him  entering  the 
door  of  the  Red  Mansion. 

Eglington  himself  was  haunted  by  a  spectre  which 
touched  his  elbow  by  day  and  said,  "You  are  not  the 
Earl  of  Eglington,"  and  at  night  laid  a  clammy  finger 
on  his  forehead,  waking  him,  and  whispering  in  his  ear, 
"If  Soolsby  had  touched  the  wire,  all  would  now  be 
well!"  And  as  deep  as  thought  and  feeling  in  him  lay, 
he  felt  that  Fate  had  tricked  him — Fate  and  Hylda. 
If  Hylda  had  not  come  at  that  crucial  instant,  the  chair- 
maker's  hut  on  the  hill  would  be  empty.  Why  had  not 
Soolsby  told  the  world  the  truth  since  ?  Was  the  man 
waiting  to  see  what  course  he  himself  would  take?  Had 
the  old  chairmaker  perhaps  written  the  truth  to  the 
Egyptian — to  his  brother  David! 

His  brother!  The  thought  irritated  every  nerve  in 
him.  No  note  of  kindness  or  kinship  or  blood  stirred  in 
him.  If,  before,  he  had  had  innate  antagonism  and  a 
dark,  hovering  jealousy,  he  had  a  black  repugnance  now 
— the  antipathy  of  the  lesser  to  the  greater  nature,  of 
the  man  in  the  wrong  to  the  man  in  the  right. 

And  behind  it  all  was  the  belief  that  his  wife  had  set 
David  above  him — by  how  much  or  in  what  fashion  he 
did  not  stop  to  consider;  but  it  made  him  desire  that 
death  and  the  desert  would  swallow  up  his  father's  son 
and  leave  no  trace  behind. 

Policy  ?  His  work  in  the  Foreign  Office  now  had  but 
one  policy  so  far  as  Egypt  was  concerned.  The  active 
sophistry  in  him  made  him  advocate  non-intervention 
in  Egyptian  affairs  as  diplomatic  wisdom,  though  it  was 

312 


THE    WEAVERS 

but  personal  purpose;  and  he  almost  convinced  himself 
that  he  was  acting  from  a  national  standpoint.  Kaid 
and  Claridge  Pasha  pursued  their  course  of  civilization 
in  the  Soudan,  and  who  could  tell  what  danger  might  not 
bring  forth  ?     If  only  Soolsby  held  his  peace  yet  a  while  ! 

Did  Faith  know?  Luke  Claridge  was  gone  without 
speaking,  but  had  Soolsby  told  Faith?  How  closely 
had  he  watched  the  faces  round  him  at  Luke  Claridge's 
funeral,  to  see  if  they  betrayed  any  knowledge! 

Anxious  days  had  followed  that  night  in  the  labora- 
tory. His  boundless  egotism  had  widened  the  chasm 
between  Hylda  and  himself,  which  had  been  made  on  the 
day  when  she  fell  ill  in  London,  with  Lacey's  letter  in  her 
hand.  It  had  not  grown  less  in  the  weeks  that  followed. 
He  nursed  a  grievance  which  had,  so  far  as  he  knew,  no 
foundation  in  fact ;  he  was  vaguely  jealous  of  a  man — 
his  brother — thousands  of  miles  away;  he  was  not  cer- 
tain how  far  Hylda  had  pierced  the  disguise  of  sincerity 
which  he  himself  had  always  worn,  or  how  far  she  un- 
derstood him.  He  thought  that  she  shrank  from  what 
she  had  seen  of  his  real  self,  much  or  little,  and  he  was 
conscious  of  so  many  gifts  and  abilities  and  attractive 
personal  qualities  that  he  felt  a  sense  of  injury.  Yet 
what  would  his  position  be  without  her  ?  Suppose  Da- 
vid should  return  and  take  the  estates  and  titles,  and 
suppose  that  she  should  close  her  hand  upon  her  fort- 
une and  leave  him,  where  would  he  be? 

He  thought  of  all  this  as  he  sat  in  his  room  at  the 
Foreign  Office  and  looked  over  St.  James's  Park,  his 
day's  work  done.  He  was  suddenly  seized  by  a  new- 
born anxiety,  for  he  had  been  so  long  used  to  the  open 
purse  and  the  unchecked  stream  of  gold,  had  taken  it 
so  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  as  not  to  realize  the  pos- 
sibility of  its  being  withdrawn.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
kind  of  meanness  and  ugly  sordidness  in  the  suggestion ; 
but  the  stake — his  future,  his  career,  his  position  in  the 

3J3 


THE    WEAVERS 

world — was  too  high  to  allow  him  to  be  too  chivalrous. 
His  sense  of  the  real  facts  was  perverted.  He  said  to 
himself  that  he  must  be  practical. 

Moved  by  the  new  thought,  he  seized  a  time-table  and 
looked  up  the  trains.  He  had  been  ten  days  in  town, 
receiving  every  morning  a  little  note  from  Hylda  telling 
of  what  she  had  done  each  day;  a  calm,  dutiful  note, 
written  without  pretence,  and  out  of  a  womanly  affec- 
tion with  which  she  surrounded  the  man  who,  it  seemed 
once — such  a  little  while  ago — must  be  all  in  all  to  her. 
She  had  no  element  of  pretence  in  her.  What  she  could 
give  she  gave  freely,  and  it  was  just  what  it  appeared 
to  be.  He  had  taken  it  all  as  his  due,  with  an  underly- 
ing belief  that,  if  he  chose  to  make  love  to  her  again,  he 
could  blind  her  to  all  else  in  the  world.  Hurt  vanity 
and  egotism  and  jealousy  had  prevented  him  from  lur- 
ing her  back  to  that  fine  atmosphere  in  which  he  had 
hypnotized  her  so  few  years  ago.  But  suddenly,  as  he 
watched  the  swans  swimming  in  the  pond  below,  a  new 
sense  of  approaching  loss,  all  that  Hylda  had  meant  in 
his  march  and  progress,  came  upon  him;  and  he  hast- 
ened to  return  to  Hamley. 

Getting  out  of  the  train  at  Heddington,  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  walk  home  by  the  road  that  David  had' 
taken  on  his  return  from  Egypt,  and  he  left  word  at  the 
station  that  he  would  send  for  his  luggage. 

His  first  objective  was  Soolsby's  hut,  and,  long  before 
he  reached  it,  darkness  had  fallen.  From  a  light  shin- 
ing through  the  crack  of  the  blind  he  knew  that  Soolsby 
was  at  home.  He  opened  the  door  and  entered  without 
knocking.  Soolsby  was  seated  at  a  table,  a  map  and  a 
newspaper  spread  out  before  him.  Egypt  and  David, 
always  David  and  Egypt! 

Soolsby  got  to  his  feet  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  inquir- 
ingly on  his  visitor. 

3M 


THE    WEAVERS 

"I  didn't  knock,"  said  Eglington,  taking  off  his  great- 
coat and  reaching  for  a  chair;  then  added,  as  he  seated 
himself,  "Better  sit  down,  Soolsby." 

After  a  moment  he  continued,  "Do  you  mind  my 
smoking?" 

Soolsby  did  not  reply,  but  sat  down  again.  He  watched 
Eglington  light  a  cigar  and  stretch  out  his  hands  to  the 
wood  fire  with  an  air  of  comfort. 

A  silence  followed.  Eglington  appeared  to  forget  the 
other's  presence,  and  to  occupy  himself  with  thoughts 
that  glimmered  in  the  fire. 

At  last  Soolsby  said  moodily,  "What  have  you  come 
for,  my  lord?" 

"Oh,  I  am  my  lord  still,  am  I?"  Eglington  returned 
lazily.  "  Is  it  a  genealogical  tree  you  are  studying  there  ?" 
He  pointed  to  the  map. 

"I've  studied  your  family  tree  with  care,  as  you 
should  know,  my  lord;  and  a  map  of  Egypt"  —  he 
tapped  the  parchment  before  him — "goes  well  with  it. 
And  see,  my  lord,  Egypt  concerns  you  too.  Lord  Eg- 
lington is  there,  and  'tis  time  he  was  returning — ay, 
'tis  time." 

There  was  a  baleful  look  in  Soolsby's  eyes.  What- 
ever he  might  think,  whatever  considerations  might 
arise  at  other  times,  a  sinister  feeling  came  upon  him 
when  Eglington  was  with  him. 

"And,  my  lord,"  he  went  on,  "I'd  be  glad  to  know 
that  you've  sent  for  him,  and  told  him  the  truth." 

"Have  you?"  Eglington  flicked  the  ash  from  his 
cigar,  speaking  coolly. 

Soolsby  looked  at  him  with  his  honest  blue  eyes 
aflame,  and  answered  deliberately:  "I  was  not  for  taking 
your  place,  my  lord.  'Twas  my  duty  to  tell  you,  but 
the  rest  was  between  you  and  the  Earl  of  Eglington." 

'That  was  thoughtful  of  you,  Soolsby.  And  Miss 
Claridge?" 

3i5 


THE    WEAVERS 

"I  told  you  that  night,  my  lord,  that  only  her  father 
and  myself  knew;  and  what  was  then  is  now." 

A  look  of  relief  stole  across  Eglington's  face.  "Of 
course — of  course.  These  things  need  a  lot  of  thought, 
Soolsby.  One  must  act  with  care — no  haste,  no  flurry, 
no  mistakes." 

"I  would  not  wait  too  long,  my  lord,  or  be  too  care- 
ful."    There  was  menace  in  the  tone. 

"But  if  you  go  at  things  blind,  you're  likely  to  hurt 
where  you  don't  mean  to  hurt.  When  you're  mowing 
in  a  field  by  a  school-house,  you  must  look  out  for  the 
children  asleep  in  the  grass.  Sometimes  the  longest 
way  round  is  the  shortest  way  home." 

"Do  you  mean  to  do  it  or  not,  my  lord?  I've  left  it 
to  you  as  a  gentleman." 

"It's  going  to  upset  more  than  you  think,  Soolsby. 
Suppose  he,  out  there  in  Egypt" — he  pointed  again  to 
the  map — "doesn't  thank  me  for  the  information.  Sup- 
pose he  says  no,  and — " 

"Right's  right.  Give  him  the  chance,  my  lord.  How 
can  you  know,  unless  you  tell  him  the  truth?" 

"Do  you  like  living,  Soolsby?" 

"Do  you  want  to  kill  me,  my  lord?" 

There  was  a  dark  look  in  Eglington's  face.  "But 
answer  me,  do  you  want  to  live?" 

"I  want  to  live  long  enough  to  see  the  Earl  of  Egling- 
ton  in  his  own  house." 

"Well,  I've  made  that  possible.  The  other  night 
when  you  were  telling  me  your  little  story,  you  were 
near  sending  yourself  into  eternity — as  near  as  I  am 
knocking  this  ash  off  my  cigar."  His  little  finger  al- 
most touched  the  ash.  "Your  hand  was  as  near  touch- 
ing a  wire  charged  with  death.  I  saw  it.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  me  if  you  had  gone ;  but  I  shut  off 
the  electricity.  Suppose  I  hadn't,  could  I  have  been 
blamed  ?     It  would  have  been  an  accident.     Providence 

316 


THE    WEAVERS 

did  not  intervene;  I  did.  You  owe  me  something, 
Soolsby." 

Soolsby  stared  at  him  almost  blindly  for  a  moment. 
A  mist  was  before  his  eyes;  but  through  the  mist,  though 
he  saw  nothing  of  this  scene  in  which  he  now  was,  he  saw 
the  laboratory,  and  himself  and  Eglington,  and  Egling- 
ton's  face  as  it  peered  at  him,  and,  just  before  the  voice 
called  outside,  Eglington's  eyes  fastened  on  his  hand. 
It  all  flashed  upon  him  now,  and  he  saw  himself  starting 
back  at  the  sound  of  the  voice. 

Slowly  he  got  up  now,  went  to  the  door,  and  opened 
it.  "My  lord,  it  is  not  true,"  he  said.  "You  have  not 
spoken  like  a  gentleman.  It  was  my  lady's  voice  that 
saved  me.  This  is  my  castle,  my  lord  —  you  lodge 
yonder."  He  pointed  down  into  the  darkness  where 
the  lights  of  the  village  shone.  "I  owe  you  nothing. 
I  pay  my  debts.  Pay  yours,  my  lord,  to  him  that's 
beyond  and  away." 

Eglington  kept  his  countenance  as  he  drew  on  his 
great-coat  and  slowly  passed  from  the  house. 

"I  ought  to  have  let  you  die,  Soolsby.  You'll  think 
better  of  this  soon.  But  it's  quite  right  to  leave  the 
matter  to  me.  It  may  take  a  little  time,  but  every- 
thing will  come  right.  Justice  shall  be  done.  Well, 
good-night,  Soolsby.  You  live  too  much  alone,  and 
imagination  is  a  bad  thing  for  the  lonely.  Good-night 
— good-night." 

Going  down  the  hill  quickly,  he  said  to  himself:  "A 
sort  of  second  sight  he  had  about  that  wire.  But  time 
is  on  my  side,  time  and  the  Soudan — and  'The  heathen 
in  his  blindness.'  ...  I  will  keep  what  is  mine.  I  will 
keep  it!" 


XXVII 

THE    AWAKENING 

In  her  heart  of  hearts  Hylda  had  not  greatly  welcomed 
the  Duchess  of  Snowdon  to  Hamley.  There  was  no 
one  whose  friendship  she  prized  more;  but  she  was 
passing  through  a  phase  of  her  life  when  she  felt  that 
she  was  better  apart,  finding  her  own  path  by  those  in- 
tuitions and  perceptions  which  belonged  to  her  own 
personal  experience.  She  vaguely  felt,  what  all  realize 
sooner  or  later,  that  we  must  live  our  dark  hours  alone. 

Yet  the  frank  downright  nature  of  the  once  beautiful, 
now  faded,  Duchess,  the  humorous  glimmer  in  the  pale- 
blue  eyes,  the  droll  irony  and  dry  truth  of  her  speech, 
appealed  to  Hylda,  made  her  smile  a  warm  greeting 
when  she  would  rather  have  been  alone.  For,  a  few 
days  before,  she  had  begun  a  quest  which  had  absorbed 
her,  fascinated  her.  The  miner,  finding  his  way  across 
the  gap  of  a  reef  to  pick  up  the  vein  of  quartz  at  some 
distant  and  uncertain  point,  could  not  have  been  more 
lost  to  the  world  than  was  the  young  wife  searching 
for  a  family  skeleton,  indefinitely  embodied  in  her  imagi- 
nation by  the  name,  James  Fetherdon. 

Pile  after  pile  of  papers  and  letters  of  the  late  Earl 
and  his  Countess  had  passed  through  her  hands  from 
chaos  to  order.  As  she  had  read,  hour  after  hour,  \he 
diaries  of  the  cold,  blue-eyed  woman,  Sybil  Eglington, 
who  had  lived  without  love  of  either  husband  or  son,  as 
they,  in  turn,  lived  without  love  of  each  other,  she  had 

3i8 


THE    WEAVERS 

been  overwhelmed  by  the  revelation  of  a  human  heart, 
whose  powers  of  expression  were  smothered  by  a  shy 
and  awkward  temperament.  The  late  Countess's  letters 
were  the  unclothing  of  a  heart  which  had  never  expanded 
to  the  eyes  of  those  whose  love  would  have  broken  up 
a  natural  reserve,  which  became  at  last  a  proud  coldness, 
and  gave  her  a  reputation  for  lack  of  feeling  that  she 
carried  to  her  grave. 

In  the  diaries  which  Hylda  unearthed — the  Count- 
ess had  died  suddenly — was  the  muffled  cry  of  a  soul 
tortured  through  different  degrees  of  misunderstanding ; 
from  the  vague  pain  of  suffered  indifference,  of  being 
left  out  of  her  husband's  calculations,  to  the  blank  neg- 
lect narrowing  her  life  down  to  a  tiny  stream  of  duty, 
which  was  finally  lost  in  the  sands.  She  had  died 
abroad,  and  alone,  save  for  her  faithful  maid,  who,  know- 
ing the  chasm  that  lay  between  her  mistress  and  her 
lord,  had  brought  her  letters  and  papers  back  to  the 
Cloistered  House,  and  locked  them  away  with  all  the 
other  papers  and  correspondence  which  the  Countess 
had  accumulated. 

Among  these  papers  was  a  letter  to  the  late  Lord 
Eglington  written  the  day  before  she  died.  In  the 
haste  and  confusion  ensuing  on  her  death,  the  maid  had 
not  seen  it.  It  had  never  reached  his  hands,  but  lay 
in  a  pocket  of  the  dead  woman's  writing-portfolio,  which 
Hylda  had  explored  without  discovering.  Only  a  few 
hours,  however,  before  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon  came, 
Hylda  had  found  again  an  empty  envelope  on  which 
was  written  the  name  James  Fetherdon.  The  writing  on 
the  envelope  was  that  of  Sybil  Lady  Eglington. 

When  she  discovered  the  envelope,  a  sense  of  mys- 
tery and  premonition  possessed  her.  What  was  the  as- 
sociation between  the  Countess  of  Eglington  and  James 
Fetherdon,  the  father  of  David  Claridge  ?  In  vain  she 
earched  among  the  voluminous  letters  and  papers,  for  it 

3l9 


THE    WEAVERS 

would  seem  that  the  dead  woman  had  saved  every  let- 
ter she  received,  and  kept  copies  of  numberless  letters 
she  had  written.  But  she  had  searched  without  avail. 
Even  the  diaries,  curiously  frank  and  without  reserve, 
never  mentioned  the  name,  so  far  as  she  could  find, 
though  here  and  there  were  strange  allusive  references, 
hints  of  a  trouble  that  weighed  her  down,  phrases  of 
exasperation  and  defiance.  One  phrase,  or  the  idea  in 
it,  was,  however,  much  repeated  in  the  diaries  during 
the  course  of  years,  and  towards  the  last  almost  feverishly 
emphasized — "Why  should  I  bear  it  for  one  who  would 
bear  nothing  for  me,  for  his  sake,  who  would  do  nothing  for 
my  sake?     Is  it  only  the  mother  in  me,  not  the  love  in  me?" 

These  words  were  haunting  Hylda's  brain  when  the 
telegram  from  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon  came.  They 
followed  her  to  Heddingon,  whither  she  went  in  the  car- 
riage to  bring  her  visitor  to  Hamley,  and  kept  repeating 
themselves  at  the  back  of  her  mind  through  the  cheerful 
rallying  of  the  Duchess,  who  spread  out  the  wings  of 
good-humor  and  motherly  freedom  over  her. 

After  all,  it  was  an  agreeable  thing  to  be  taken 
possession  of,  and  "put  in  her  proper  place,"  as  the 
Duchess  said;  made  to  understand  that  her  own  affairs 
were  not  so  important,  after  all;  and  that  it  was  far  more 
essential  to  hear  the  charming  gossip  about  the  new 
and  most  popular  Princess  of  Wales,  or  the  quarrel  be- 
tween Dickens  and  Thackeray.  Yet,  after  dinner,  in  the 
little  sitting-room,  where  the  Duchess,  in  a  white  gown 
with  great  pink  bows,  fitter  for  a  girl  fresh  from  Con- 
firmation, and  her  cheeks  with  their  fixed  color,  which 
changed  only  at  the  discretion  of  her  maid,  babbled  of 
nothing  that  mattered,  Hylda's  mind  kept  turning  to 
the  book  of  life  an  unhappy  woman  had  left  behind 
her. 

The  sitting-room  had  been  that  of  the  late  Countess 
also,  and  on  the  wall  was  an  oil-painting  of  her,  stately 

320 


'THIS    IS    MY    CASTLE,  MY     I. OKI)— YOU    LODGE    YONDER 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  distant  and  not  very  alluring,  though  the  mouth 
had  a  sweetness  which  seemed  unable  to  break  into  a 
smile. 

"What  was  she  really  like — that  wasn't  her  quite,  was 
it?"  asked  Hylda,  at  last,  leaning  her  chin  on  the  hand 
which  held  the  'cello  she  had  been  playing. 

"Oh  yes,  it's  Sybil  Eglington,  my  dear,  but  done  in 
wood;  and  she  wasn't  the  graven  image  that  makes  her 
out  to  be.  That's  as  most  people  saw  her;  as  the  fellow 
that  painted  her  saw  her;  but  she  had  another  side  to  her. 
She  disapproved  of  me  rather,  because  I  was  squeezing 
the  orange  dry,  and  trying  to  find  yesterday's  roses  in 
to-morrow's  garden.  But  she  didn't  shut  her  door  in 
my  face — it's  hard  to  do  that  to  a  Duchess;  which  is  one 
of  the  few  advantages  of  living  naked  in  the  street  as  it 
were,  with  only  the  strawberry  leaves  to  clothe  you.  No, 
Sybil  Eglington  was  a  woman  who  never  had  her  chance. 
Your  husband's  forbears  were  difficult,  my  dear.  They 
didn't  exactly  draw  you  out.  She  needed  drawing  out; 
and  her  husband  drove  her  back  into  her  corner,  where 
she  sulked  rather  till  she  died — -died  alone  at  Wiesbaden, 
with  a  German  doctor,  a  stray  curate,  and  a  stuttering 
maid  to  wish  her  bon  voyage.  Yet  I  fancy  she  went 
glad  enough,  for  she  had  no  memories,  not  even  an 
affaire  to  repent  of,  and  to  cherish.  La,  la!  she  wasn't 
so  stupid,  Sybil  there,  and  she  was  an  ornament  to  her 
own  sex  and  the  despair  of  the  other.  His  Serene  High- 
ness Heinrich  of  Saxe-Gunden  fancied  the  task  of  break- 
ing that  ice,  and  he  was  an  adept  and  an  Apollo,  but  it 
broke  his  reputation  instead.  No  doubt  she  is  happy 
now.     I  shall  probably  never  see!" 

In  spite  of  the  poignant  nature  of  the  talk,  Hylda 
could  not  but  smile  at  the  last  words. 

"Don't  despair,"  she  rejoined;  "one  star  differeth  from 
another  star  in  glory,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  they 
should  not  be  on  visiting  terms." 

321 


THE    WEAVERS 

"My  dear,  you  may  laugh — you  may  laugh,  but  I  am 
sixty-five,  and  I  am  not  laughing  at  the  idea  of  what 
company  I  may  be  obliged  to  keep  presently.  In  any 
case  I'm  sure  I  shall  not  be  comfortable.  If  I'm  where 
she  is,  I  shall  be  dull;  if  I'm  where  her  husband  is,  I'll 
have  no  reputation;  and  if  there  is  one  thing  I  want,  it  is 
a  spotless  reputation — sometime." 

Hylda  laughed — the  manner  and  the  voice  were  so 
droll — but  her  face  saddened  too,  and  her  big  eyes  with 
the  drooping  lashes  looked  up  pensively  at  the  portrait  of 
her  husband's  mother. 

"Was  it  ever  a  happy  family,  or  a  lucky  family?"  she 
asked. 

"It's  lucky  now,  and  it  ought  to  be  happy  now,"  was 
the  meaning  reply. 

Hylda  made  no  answer,  but  caught  the  strings  of  the 
'cello  lightly,  and  shook  her  head  reprovingly,  with  a 
smile  meant  to  be  playful.  For  a  moment  she  played, 
humming  to  herself,  and  then  the  Duchess  touched  the 
hand  that  was  drawing  the  bow  softly  across  the  strings. 
She  had  behind  her  garishness  a  gift  for  sympathy  and 
a  keen  intuition,  delicacy  and  allusiveness.  She  knew 
what  to  say  and  what  to  leave  unsaid,  when  her  heart 
was  moved. 

"My  darling,"  she  said  now,  "you  are  not  quite  happy; 
but  that  is  because  you  don't  allow  yourself  to  get  well. 
You've  never  recovered  from  your  attack  last  summer; 
and  you  won't,  until  you  come  out  into  the  world  again 
and  see  people.  This  autumn  you  ought  to  have  been  at 
Homburg  or  at  Aix,  where  you'd  take  a  little  cure  of 
waters  and  a  great  deal  of  cure  of  people.  You  were  born 
to  bask  in  friendship  and  the  sun,  and  to  draw  from  the 
world  as  much  as  you  deserve,  a  little  from  many,  for  all 
you  give  in  return.  Because,  dearest,  you  are  a  very 
agreeable  person,  with  enough  wit  and  humanity  to 
make  it  worth  the  world's  while  to  conspire  to  make  you 

322 


THE    WEAVERS 

do  what  will  give  it  most  pleasure,  and  let  yourself  get 
most — and  that's  why  I've  come." 

"What  a  person  of  importance  I  am!"  answered  Hylda, 
with  a  laugh  that  was  far  from  mirthful,  though  she 
caught  the  plump,  wrinkled  little  hand  of  the  Duchess 
and  pressed  it.  "But  really  I'm  getting  well  here  fast. 
I'm  very  strong  again.  It  is  so  restful,  and  one's  days 
go  by  so  quietly." 

"Yet,  I'm  not  sure  that  it's  rest  you  want.  I  don't 
think  it  is.  You  want  tonics — men  and  women  and 
things.  Monte  Carlo  would  do  you  a  world  of  good — 
I'd  go  with  you.  Eglington  gambles  here  " — she  watched 
Hylda  closely — "why  shouldn't  you  gamble  there?" 

"Eglington  gambles?"  Hylda's  face  took  on  a  fright- 
ened look,  then  It  cleared  again,  and  she  smiled.  "Oh, 
of  course,  with  international  affairs,  you  mean.  Well, 
I  must  stay  here  and  be  the  croupier." 

"Nonsense!  Eglington  is  his  own  croupier.  Besides, 
he  is  so  much  in  London,  and  you  so  much  here.  You 
sit  with  the  distaff;  he  throws  the  dice." 

Hylda's  lips  tightened  a  little.  Her  own  inner  life, 
what  Eglington  was  to  her  or  she  to  Eglington,  was  for 
the  ears  of  no  human  being,  however  friendly.  She  had 
seen  little  of  him  of  late,  but  in  one  sense  that  had  been 
a  relief,  though  she  would  have  done  anything  to  make 
that  feeling  impossible.  His  rather  precise  courtesy 
and  consideration,  when  he  was  with  her,  emphasized  the 
distance  between  "the  first  fine  careless  rapture"  and 
this  gray  quiet.  And,  strange  to  say,  though  in  the 
first  five  years  after  the  Cairo  days  and  deeds,  Egypt 
seemed  an  infinite  space  away,  and  David  a  distant,  al- 
most legendary  figure,  now  Egypt  seemed  but  beyond 
the  door — as  though,  opening  it,  she  would  stand  near 
him  who  represented  the  best  of  all  that  she  might  be 
capable  of  thinking.  Yet  all  the  time  she  longed  for 
Eglington  to  come  and  say  one  word,  which  would  be 

323 


THE    WEAVERS 

like  touching  the  lever  of  the  sluice-gates  of  her  heart, 
to  let  loose  the  flood.  As  the  space  grew  between  her 
and  Eglington,  her  spirit  trembled,  she  shrank  back, 
because  she  saw  that  sea  towards  which  she  was  drifting. 

As  she  did  not  answer  the  last  words  of  the  Duchess, 
the  latter  said  presently,  "When  do  you  expect  Egling- 
ton?" 

"Not  till  the  week-end;  it  is  a  busy  week  with  him," 
Hylda  answered;  then  added  hastily,  though  she  had 
not  thought  of  it  till  this  moment,  "I  shall  probably  go 
up  to  town  with  you  to-morrow." 

She  did  not  know  that  Eglington  was  already  in  the 
house,  and  had  given  orders  to  the  butler  that  she  was 
not  to  be  informed  of  his  arrival  for  the  present. 

"Well,  if  you  get  that  far,  will  you  come  with  me  to 
the  Riviera,  or  to  Florence,  or  Sicily — or  Cairo?"  the 
other  asked,  adjusting  her  gold-brown  wig  with  her 
babyish  hands. 

Cairo!  Cairo!  A  light  shot  up  into  Hylda's  eyes. 
The  Duchess  had  spoken  without  thought,  but,  as  she 
spoke,  she  watched  the  sudden  change  in  Hylda.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Cairo — why  should  Cairo  have  waked  her 
so?  Suddenly  she  recalled  certain  vague  references  of 
Lord  Windlehurst,  and,  for  the  first  time,  she  associated 
Hylda  with  Claridge  Pasha  in  a  way  which  might  mean 
much,  account  for  much,  in  this  life  she  was  leading. 

"Perhaps!  Perhaps!"  answered  Hylda  abstractedly, 
after  a  moment. 

The  Duchess  got  to  her  feet.  She  had  made  progress. 
She  would  let  her  medicine  work. 

"I'm  going  to  bed,  my  dear.  I'm  sixty-five,  and  I 
take  my  sleep  when  I  can  get  it.  Think  it  over,  Sicily 
—Cairo  /" 

She  left  the  room,  saying  to  herself  that  Eglington 
was  a  fool,  and  that  danger  was  ahead.  "But  I  hold  a 
red  light — poor  darling!"  she  said  aloud,  as  she  went  up 

324 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  staircase.  She  did  not  know  that  Eglington,  stand- 
ing in  a  deep  doorway,  heard  her,  and  seized  upon  the 
words  eagerly  and  suspiciously,  and  turned  them  over 
in  his  mind. 

Below,  at  the  desk  where  Eglington's  mother  used  to 
write,  Hylda  sat  with  a  bundle  of  letters  before  her. 
For  some  moments  she  opened,  glanced  through  them, 
and  put  them  aside.  Presently  she  sat  back  in  her 
chair,  thinking — her  mind  was  invaded  by  the  last  words 
of  the  Duchess;  and  somehow  they  kept  repeating  them- 
selves with  the  words  in  the  late  Countess's  diary,  "Is 
it  only  the  mother  in  me,  not  the  love  in  meV  Mechanical- 
ly her  hand  moved  over  the  portfolio  of  the  late  Countess, 
and  it  involuntarily  felt  in  one  of  its  many  pockets.  Her 
hand  came  upon  a  letter.  This  had  remained  when  the 
others  had  been  taken  out.  It  was  addressed  to  the  late 
Earl,  and  was  open.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  with 
a  strange  premonition  and  a  tightening  of  her  heart- 
strings, she  spread  it  out  and  read  it. 

At  first  she  could  scarcely  see  because  of  the  mist  in 
her  eyes;  but  presently  her  sight  cleared,  and  she  read 
quickly,  her  cheeks  burning  with  excitement,  her  heart 
throbbing  violently.  The  letter  was  the  last  expression 
of  a  disappointed  and  barren  life.  The  slow,  stammer- 
ing tongue  of  an  almost  silent  existence  had  found  the 
fulness  of  speech.  The  fountains  of  the  deep  had  been, 
broken  up,  and  Sybil  Eglington's  repressed  emotions, 
undeveloped  passions,  tortured  by  mortal  sufferings, 
and  refined  and  vitalized  by  the  atmosphere  blown  in 
upon  her  last  hours  from  the  Hereafter,  were  set  free, 
given  voice  and  power  at  last. 

The  letter  reviewed  the  life  she  had  lived  with  her 
husband  during  twenty-odd  years,  reproved  herself  for 
not  speaking  out  and  telling  him  his  faults  at  the  be- 
ginning, and  for  drawing  in  upon  herself,  when  she 
might  have  compelled  him  to  a  truer  understanding; 

325 


THE    WEAVERS 

and,  when  all  that  was  said,  called  him  to  such  an  ac- 
count as  only  the  dying  might  make — the  irrevocable, 
disillusionizing  truth  which  may  not  be  altered,  the 
poignant  record  of  failure  and  its  causes. 

"...  I  could  not  talk  well,  I  never  could,  as  a  girl," 
the  letter  ran;  "and  you  could  talk  like  one  inspired, 
and  so  speciously,  so  overwhelmingly,  that  I  felt  I  could 
say  nothing  in  disagreement,  not  anything  but  assent; 
while  all  the  time  I  felt  how  hollow  was  so  much  you  said 
— a  cloak  of  words  to  cover  up  the  real  thought  behind. 
Before  /  knew  the  truth,  I  felt  the  shadow  of  secrecy  in 
your  life.  When  you  talked  most,  I  felt  you  most  se- 
cretive, and  the  feeling  slowly  closed  the  door  upon  all 
frankness  and  sympathy  and  open  speech  between  us. 
I  was  always  shy  and  self-conscious  and  self-centred, 
and  thought  little  of  myself;  and  I  needed  deep  love  and 
confidence  and  encouragement  to  give  out  what  was  in 
me.  I  gave  nothing  out,  nothing  to  you  that  you  want- 
ed, or  sought  for,  or  needed.  You  were  complete,  self- 
contained.  Harry,  my  beloved  babe  Harry,  helped  at 
first;  but,  as  the  years  went  on,  he  too  began  to  despise 
me  for  my  little  intellect  and  slow  intelligence,  and  he 
grew  to  be  like  you  in  all  things — and  secretive  also, 
though  I  tried  so  hard  to  be  to  him  what  a  mother  should 
be.  Oh,  Bobby,  Bobby — I  used  to  call  you  that  in  the 
days  before  We  were  married,  and  I  will  call  you  that 
now  when  all  is  over  and  done — why  did  you  not  tell 
me  all?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  my  boy,  my 
baby  Harry,  was  not  your  only  child,  that  there  had 
been  another  wife,  and  that  your  eldest  son  was  alive  ? 

"I  know  all.  I  have  known  all  for  years.  The  clergy- 
man who  married  you  to  Mercy  Claridge  was  a  distant 
relative  of  my  mother's,  and  before  he  died  he  told  me. 
When  you  married  her,  he  knew  you  only  as  James 
Fetherdon,  but,  years  afterwards,  he  saw  and  recognized 

326 


THE    WEAVERS 

you.  He  held  his  peace  then,  but  at  last  he  came  to 
to  me.  And  I  did  not  speak.  I  was  not  strong  enough, 
nor  good  enough,  to  face  the  trouble  of  it  all.  I  could 
not  endure  the  scandal,  to  see  my  own  son  take  the 
second  place — he  is  so  brilliant  and  able  and  unscrupu- 
lous, like  yourself;  but,  oh,  so  sure  of  winning  a  great 
place  in  the  world,  surer  than  yourself  ever  was,  he  is 
so  calculating  and  determined  and  ambitious!  And 
though  he  loves  me  little,  as  he  loves  you  little,  too,  yet 
he  is  my  son,  and  for  what  he  is  we  are  both  responsible, 
one  way  or  another;  and  I  had  not  the  courage  to  give 
him  the  second  place,  and  the  Quaker,  David  Claridge, 
the  first  place.  Why  Luke  Claridge,  his  grandfather, 
chose  the  course  he  did,  does  not  concern  me,  no  more 
than  why  you  chose  secrecy,  and  kept  your  own  first- 
born legitimate  son,  of  whom  you  might  well  be  proud, 
a  stranger  to  you  and  his  rights  all  these  years.  Ah, 
Eglington,  you  never  knew  what  love  was,  you  never 
had  a  heart — experiment,  subterfuge,  secrecy,  'reaping 
where  you  had  not  sowed,  and  gathering  where  you 
had  not  strawed.'  Always,  experiment,  experiment, 
experiment! 

' '  I  shall  be  gone  in  a  few  hours — I  feel  it ;  but  before  I 
go  I  must  try  to  do  right,  and  to  warn  you.  I  have  had 
such  bad  dreams  about  you  and  Harry, — they  haunt 
me — that  I  am  sure  you  will  suffer  terribly,  will  have 
some  awful  tragedy,  unless  you  undo  what  was  done 
long  ago,  and  tell  the  truth  to  the  world,  and  give  your 
titles  and  estates  where  they  truly  belong.  Near  to 
death,  seeing  how  little  life  is,  and  how  much  right  is 
in  the  end,  I  am  sure  that  I  was  wrong  in  holding  my 
peace;  for  Harry  cannot  prosper  with  this  black  thing 
behind  him,  and  you  cannot  die  happy  if  you  smother 
up  the  truth.  Night  after  night  I  have  dreamed  of  you 
in  your  laboratory,  a  vague,  dark,  terrifying  dream  of 
you  in  that  laboratory  which  I  have  hated  so.  It  has 
"  327 


THE    WEAVERS 

always  seemed  to  me  the  place  where  some  native  evil 
and  cruelty  in  your  blood  worked  out  its  will.  I  know 
I  am  an  ignorant  woman,  with  no  brain,  but  God  has 
given  me  clear  sight  at  the  last,  and  the  things  I  see  are 
true  things,  and  I  must  warn  you.     Remember  that.  ..." 

The  letter  ended  there.  She  had  been  interrupted  or 
seized  with  illness,  and  had  never  finished  it;  and  had 
died  a  few  hours  afterwards;  and  the  letter  was  now,  for 
the  first  time,  read  by  her  whom  it  most  concerned,  into 
whose  heart  and  soul  the  words  sank  with  an  immitigable 
pain  and  agonized  amazement.  A  few  moments  with 
this  death-document  had  transformed  Hylda's  life. 

Her  husband  and — and  David,  were  sons  of  the  same 
father;  and  the  name  she  bore,  the  home  in  which  she 
was  living,  the  estates  the  title  carried,  were  not  her 
husband's,  but  another's — David's.  She  fell  back  in 
her  chair,  white  and  faint,  but,  with  a  great  effort,  she 
conquered  the  swimming  weakness  which  blinded  her. 
Sons  of  the  same  father!  The  past  flashed  before  her, 
the  strange  likeness  she  had  observed,  the  trick  of  the 
head,  the  laugh,  the  swift  gesture,  the  something  in  the 
voice.  She  shuddered  as  she  had  done  in  reading  the 
letter.  But  they  were  related  only  in  name,  in  some 
distant,  irreconcilable  way  —  in  a  way  which  did  not 
warrant  the  sudden  scarlet  flush  that  flooded  her  face. 
Presently  she  recovered  herself.  She  —  what  did  she 
suffer,  compared  with  her  who  wrote  this  revelation  of 
a  lifetime  of  pain,  of  bitter  and  torturing  knowledge! 
She  looked  up  at  the  picture  on  the  wall,  at  the  still, 
proud,  emotionless  face,  the  conventional,  uninspired 
personality,  behind  which  no  one  had  seen,  which  had 
agonized  alone  till  the  last.  With  what  tender  yet  piti- 
less hand  had  she  laid  bare  the  lives  of  her  husband  and 
her  son!  How  had  the  neglected  mother  told  the  bitter 
truth  of  him  to  whom  she  had  given  birth! — "So  bnll- 

328 


THE    WEAVERS 

iant  and  able,  and  unscrupidons ,  like  yourself;  but,  oh,  so 
sure  of  winning  a  great  place  in  the  world,  .  .  .  so  calcu- 
lating and  determined  and  ambitious.  .  .  .  That  laboratory 
which  I  have  hated  so.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  the 
place  where  some  native  evil  and  cruelty  in  your  blood 
worked  out  its  will.  ..." 

With  a  deep-drawn  sigh  Hylda  said  to  herself,  "If 
I  were  dying  to-morrow,  would  I  say  that  ?  She  loved 
them  so — at  first  must  have  loved  them  so;  and  yet 
this  at  the  last!  And  I — oh,  no,  no,  no!"  She  looked 
at  a  portrait  of  Eglington  on  the  table  near,  touched  it 
caressingly,  and  added,  with  a  sob  in  her  voice,  "Oh, 
Harry,  no,  it  is  not  true!  It  is  not  native  evil  and 
cruelty  in  your  blood.  It  has  all  been  a  mistake.  You 
will  do  right.  We  will  do  right,  Harry.  You  will 
suffer,  it  will  hurt,  the  lesson  will  be  hard — to  give  up 
what  has  meant  so  much  to  you;  but  we  will  work  it 
out  together,  you  and  I,  my  very  dear.  Oh,  say  that 
we  shall,  that  ..." 

She  suddenly  grew  silent.  A  tremor  ran  through  her, 
she  became  conscious  of  his  presence  near  her,  and 
turned,  as  though  he  were  behind  her.  There  was  noth- 
ing. Yet  she  felt  him  near,  and,  as  she  did  so,  the  soul- 
deep  feeling  with  which  she  had  spoken  to  the  portrait 
fled.  Why  was  it  that,  so  often,  when  absent  from  him, 
her  imagination  helped  her  to  make  excuses  for  him, 
inspired  her  to  press  the  real  truth  out  of  sight,  and  to 
make  believe  that  he  was  worthy  of  a  love  which,  but 
through  some  inner  fault  of  her  own,  might  be  his  al- 
together, and  all  the  love  of  which  he  was  capable  might 
be  hers? 

She  felt  him  near  her,  and  the  feelings  possessing  her 
a  moment  before  slowly  chilled  and  sank  away.  In- 
stinctively her  eyes  glanced  towards  the  door.  She 
saw  the  handle  turn,  and  she  slipped  the  letter  inside 
the  portfolio  again. 

329 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  door  opened  briskly  now,  and  Eglington  entered 
with  what  his  enemies  in  the  newspaper  press  had  called 
his  "professional  smile" — a  criticism  which  had  angered 
his  wife,  chiefly  because  it  was  so  near  the  truth.  He 
smiled,  smiling  was  part  of  his  equipment,  and  was  for 
any  one  at  any  time  that  suited  him. 

Her  eyes  met  his,  and  he  noted  in  her  something  that 
he  had  never  seen  before.  Something  had  happened. 
The  Duchess  of  Snowdon  was  in  the  house;  had  it  any- 
thing to  do  with  her  ?  Had  she  made  trouble  ?  There 
was  trouble  enough  without  her.  He  came  forward, 
took  Hylda's  hand  and  kissed  it,  then  kissed  her  on  the 
cheek.  As  he  did  so,  she  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm  with  a 
sudden  impulse,  and  pressed  it.  Though  his  presence 
had  chilled  the  high  emotions  of  a  few  moments  before, 
yet  she  had  to  break  to  him  a  truth  which  would  hurt 
him,  dismay  him,  rob  his  life  of  so  much  that  helped  it; 
and  a  sudden  protective,  maternal  sense  was  roused  in 
her,  reached  out  to  shelter  him  as  he  faced  his  loss  and 
the  call  of  duty. 

"You  have  just  come?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that,  to 
herself,  seemed  far  away. 

"I  have  been  here  some  hours,"  he  answered. 

Secrecy  again — always  the  thing  that  had  chilled  the 
dead  woman,  and  laid  a  cold  hand  upon  herself — "/ 
felt  the  shadow  of  secrecy  in  your  life.  When  you  talked 
most,  I  felt  you  most  secretive,  and  the  feeling  slowly  closed 
the  door  upon  all  frankness  and  sympathy  and  open  speech 
between  us.'" 

"Why  did  you  not  see  me — dine  with  me  ?"  she  asked. 
"What  can  the  servants  think?"  Even  in  such  a  crisis 
the  little  things  had  place — habit  struck  its  note  in  the 
presence  of  her  tragedy. 

"You  had  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon,  and  we  are  not 
precisely  congenial;  besides,  I  had  much  to  do  in  the 
laboratory.      I'm  working   for   that   new   explosive    of 

33° 


THE    WEAVERS 

which  I  told  you.  There's  fame  and  fortune  in  it,  and 
I'm  on  the  way.  I  feel  it  coming" — his  eyes  sparkled  a 
little.  "I  made  it  right  with  the  servants;  so  don't 
be  apprehensive." 

"I  have  not  seen  you  for  nearly  a  week.  It  doesn't 
seem — friendly. 

"Politics  and  science  are  stern  masters,"  he  answered 
gaily. 

"They  leave  little  time  for  your  mistress,"  she  re- 
joined meaningly. 

"Who  is  my  mistress?" 

"Well,  I  am  not  greatly  your  wife,"  she  replied.  "I 
have  the  dregs  of  your  life.  I  help  you — I  am  allowed 
to  help  you — so  little,  to  share  so  little  in  the  things  that 
matter  to  you." 

"Now,  that's  imagination  and  misunderstanding,"  he 
rejoined.  "It  has  helped  immensely  your  being  such  a 
figure  in  society,  and  entertaining  so  much,  and  being  so 
popular,  at  any  rate  until  very  lately." 

"I  do  not  misunderstand,"  she  answered  gravely.  "I 
do  not  share  your  real  life.  I  do  not  help  you  where 
your  brain  works,  in  the  plans  and  purposes  and  hopes 
that  lie  behind  all  that  you  do — oh  yes,  I  know  your  am- 
bitions and  what  positions  you  are  aiming  for;  but  there 
is  something  more  than  that.  There  is  the  object  of  it 
all,  the  pulse  of  it,  the  machinery  down,  down  deep  in 
your  being  that  drives  it  all.  Oh,  I  am  not  a  child!  I 
have  some  intellect,  and  I  want — I  want  that  we  should 
work  it  out  together." 

In  spite  of  all  that  had  come  and  gone,  in  spite  of  the 
dead  mother's  words  and  all  her  own  convictions,  seeing 
trouble  coming  upon  him,  she  wanted  to  make  one  last 
effort  for  what  might  save  their  lives — her  life — from 
shipwreck  in  the  end.  If  she  failed  now,  she  foresaw  a 
bitter,  cynical  figure  working  out  his  life  with  a  narrow- 
ing soul,  a  hard  spirit  unrelieved  by  the  softening  in- 

33i 


THE    WEAVERS 

fluence  of  a  great  love — even  yet  the  woman  in  her  had  a 
far-off  hope  that,  where  the  law  had  made  them  one  by 
book  and  scrip,  the  love  which  should  consecrate  such  a 
union,  lift  it  above  an  almost  offensive  relation,  might 
be  theirs.  She  did  not  know  how  much  of  her  heart, 
of  her  being,  was  wandering  over  the  distant  sands  of 
Egypt,  looking  for  its  oasis.  Eglington  had  never  need- 
ed or  wanted  more  than  she  had  given  him — her  fortune, 
her  person,  her  charm,  her  ability  to  play  an  express  and 
definite  part  in  his  career.  It  was  this  material  use  to 
which  she  was  so  largely  assigned,  almost  involuntarily 
but  none  the  less  truly,  that  had  destroyed  all  of  the 
finer,  dearer,  more  delicate  intimacy  invading  his  mind 
sometimes,  more  or  less  vaguely,  where  Faith  was  con- 
cerned. So  extreme  was  his  egotism  that  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him,  as  it  had  done  to  the  Duchess  of  Snow- 
don  and  Lord  Windlehurst,  that  he  might  lose  Hylda 
herself  as  well  as  her  fortune;  that  the  day  might  come 
when  her  high  spirit  could  bear  it  no  longer.  As  the 
Duchess  of  Snowdon  had  said,  "It  would  all  depend  upon 
the  other  man,  whoever  he  might  be." 

So  he  answered  her  with  superficial  cheerfulness  now; 
he  had  not  the  depth  of  soul  to  see  that  they  were  at  a 
crisis,  and  that  she  could  bear  no  longer  the  old  method 
of  treating  her  as  though  she  were  a  child,  to  be  humored 
or  to  be  dominated. 

"Oh,  you  see  all  there  is,"  he  answered;  "you  are  so 
imaginative,  crying  for  some  moon  there  never  was  in 
any  sky." 

In  part  he  had  spoken  the  truth.  He  had  no  high 
objects  or  ends  or  purposes.  He  wanted  only  success 
somehow  or  another,  and  there  was  no  nobility  of  mind 
or  aspiration  behind  it.  In  her  heart  of  hearts  she 
knew  it;  but  it  was  the  last  cry  of  her  soul  to  him, 
seeking,  though  in  vain,  for  what  she  had  never  had, 
could  never  have. 

332 


THE    WEAVERS 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  he  added,  looking  at 
the  desk  where  she  had  sat,  glancing  round  the  room. 
"Has  the  Duchess  left  any  rags  on  the  multitude  of  her 
acquaintances?  I  wonder  that  you  can  make  your- 
self contented  here  with  nothing  to  do.  You  don't  look 
much  stronger.  I'm  sure  you  ought  to  have  a  change. 
My  mother  was  never  well  here;  though,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  she  was  never  very  well  anywhere.  I  suppose 
it's  the  laboratory  that  attracts  me  here,  as  it  did  my 
father,  playing  with  the  ancient  forces  of  the  world  in 
these  Arcadian  surroundings — Arcady  without  beauty  or 
Arcadians."  He  glanced  up  at  his  mother's  picture. 
"No,  she  never  liked  it — a  very  silent  woman,  secretive 
almost." 

Suddenly  her  eye  flared  up.  Anger  possessed  her. 
She  choked  it  down.  Secretive — the  poor  bruised  soul 
who  had  gone  to  her  grave  with  a  broken  heart ! 

"She  secretive  ?  No,  Eglington,"  she  rejoined  gravely, 
"she  was  congealed.  She  lived  in  too  cold  an  air.  She 
was  not  secretive,  but  yet  she  kept  a  secret — another's!" 

Again  Eglington  had  the  feeling  which  possessed  him 
when  he  entered  the  room.  She  had  changed.  There 
was  something  in  her  tone,  a  meaning  he  had  never 
heard  before.  He  was  startled.  He  recalled  the  words 
of  the  Duchess  as  she  went  up  the  staircase. 

What  was  it  all  about? 

"Whose  secrets  did  she  keep?"  he  asked,  calmly 
enough. 

"Your  father's,  yours,  mine,"  she  replied,  in  a  whisper 
almost. 

"Secret?  What  secret?  Good  Lord,  such  mystery!" 
He  laughed  mirthlessly. 

She  came  close  to  him.  "I  am  sorry — sorry,  Harry," 
she  said  with  difficulty.  "It  will  hurt  you,  shock  you 
so.      It  will  be  a  blow  to  you,  but  you  must  bear  it." 

vShc  tried  to  speak  further,  but  1km-  heart  was  beating  so 

333 


THE    WEAVERS 

violently  that  she  could  not.  She  turned  quickly  to  the 
portfolio  on  the  desk,  drew  forth  the  fatal  letter,  and, 
turning  to  the  page  which  contained  the  truth  concerning 
David,  handed  it  to  him.     "It  is  there,"  she  said. 

He  had  great  self-control.  Before  looking  at  the  page 
to  which  she  had  directed  his  attention,  he  turned  the 
letter  over  slowly,  fingering  the  pages  one  by  one.  "My 
mother  to  my  father,"  he  remarked. 

Instinctively  he  knew  what  it  contained.  "You  have 
been  reading  my  mother's  correspondence,"  he  added  in 
cold  reproof. 

"Do  you  forget  that  you  asked  me  to  arrange  her 
papers?"  she  retorted,  stung  by  his  suggestion. 

'Your  imagination  is  vivid,"  he  exclaimed.  Then  he 
bethought  himself  that,  after  all,  he  might  sorely  need 
all  she  could  give,  if  things  went  against  him,  and  that 
she  was  the  last  person  he  could  afford  to  alienate ;  ' '  but 
I  do  remember  that  I  asked  you  that,"  he  added — "no 
doubt  foolishly." 

"Read  what  is  there,"  she  broke  in,  "and  you  will 
see  that  it  was  not  foolish,  that  it  was  meant  to  be." 

He  felt  a  cold,  dead  hand  reaching  out  from  the  past 
to  strike  him;  but  he  nerved  himself,  and  his  eyes  searched 
the  paper  with  assumed  coolness — even  with  her  he  must 
still  be  acting.  The  first  words  he  saw  were,  "Why  did 
you  not  tell  me  that  my  boy,  my  baby  Harry,  was  not  your 
only  child,  .  .  .  and  that  your  eldest  son  was  alive?" 

So,  that  was  it,  after  all.  Even  his  mother  knew. 
Master  of  his  nerves  as  he  was,  it  blinded  him  for  a  mo- 
ment. Presently  he  read  on, — the  whole  page — and 
lingered  upon  the  words,  that  he  might  have  time  to 
think  what  he  must  say  to  Hylda.  Nothing  of  the 
tragedy  of  his  mother  touched  him,  though  he  was  faintly 
conscious  of  a  revelation  of  a  woman  he  had  never 
known,  whose  hungering  caresses  had  made  him,  as  a 
child,  rather  peevish  when,  a  fit  of  affection  was  not  on 

334 


THE    WEAVERS 

him.  Suddenly  as  he  read  the  lines  touching  himself, 
"Brilliant  and  able  and  unscrupidous  .  .  .  and  though  he 
loves  me  little,  as  he  loves  you  little,  too,"  his  eye  lighted 
up  with  anger,  his  face  became  pale — yet  he  had  borne 
the  same  truths  from  Faith  without  resentment,  in  the 
wood  by  the  mill  that  other  year.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  infuriated,  then,  going  to  the  fireplace,  he  dropped 
the  letter  on  the  coals,  as  Hylda,  in  horror,  started  for- 
ward to  arrest  his  hand. 

"Oh,  Eglington — but  no — no!  It  is  not  honorable. 
It  is  proof  of  all!" 

He  turned  upon  her  slowly,  his  face  rigid,  a  strange, 
cold  light  in  his  eyes.  "If  there  is  no  more  proof  than 
that,  you  need  not  vex  your  mind,"  he  said,  command- 
ing his  voice  to  evenness. 

A  bitter  anger  was  on  him.  His  mother  had  read 
him  through  and  through  —  he  had  not  deceived  her 
even;  and  she  had  given  evidence  against  him  to  Hylda, 
who,  he  had  ever  thought,  believed  in  him  completely. 
Now  there  was  added  to  the  miserable  tale,  that  first 
marriage,  and  the  rights  of  David — David,  the  man 
who,  he  was  convinced,  had  captured  her  imagina- 
tion! Hurt  vanity  played  a  disproportionate  part  in 
this  crisis. 

The  effect  on  him  had  been  different  from  what  Hylda 
had  anticipated.  She  had  pictured  him  stricken  and 
dumfounded  by  the  blow.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
her,  it  did  not  now,  that  he  had  known  the  truth;  for, 
of  course,  to  know  the  truth  was  to  speak,  to  restore  to 
David  his  own,  to  step  down  into  the  second  and  un- 
considered place.  After  all,  to  her  mind,  there  was  no 
disgrace.  The  late  Earl  had  married  secretly,  but  he 
had  been  duly  married,  and  he  did  not  marry  again 
until  Mercy  Claridge  was  dead.  The  only  wrong  was 
to  David,  whose  grandfather  had  been  even  more  to 
blame   than   his  own  father.     She  had  looked   to  help 

335 


THE    WEAVERS 

Eglington  in  this  moment,  and  now  there  seemed  noth- 
ing for  her  to  do.  He  was  superior  to  the  situation, 
though  it  was  apparent  in  his  pale  face  and  rigid  man- 
ner that  he  had  been  struck  hard. 

She  came  near  to  him,  but  there  was  no  encourage- 
ment to  her  to  play  that  part  which  is  a  woman's  deep- 
est right  and  joy  and  pain  in  one — to  comfort  her  man 
in  trouble,  sorrow,  or  evil.  Always,  always,  he  stood 
alone,  whatever  the  moment  might  be,  leaving  her  noth- 
ing to  do — ' '  playing  his  own  game  with  his  own  weap- 
ons," as  he  had  once  put  it.  But  there  was  strength 
in  it,  too,  and  this  came  to  her  mind  now,  as  though  in 
excuse  for  whatever  else  there  was  in  the  situation  which, 
against  her  will,  repelled  her. 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  she  said  at  last. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"To  lose  all  that  has  been  yours  so  long." 

This  was  their  great  moment.  The  response  to  this 
must  be  the  touchstone  of  their  lives.  A  half-dozen 
words  might  alter  all  the  future,  might  be  the  watch- 
word to  the  end  of  all  things.  Involuntarily  her  heart 
fashioned  the  response  he  ought  to  give — "/  shall  have 
you  left,  Hylda." 

The  air  seemed  to  grow  oppressive,  and  the  instant's 
silence  a  torture,  and,  when  he  spoke,  his  words  struck 
a  chill  to  her  heart — rough  notes  of  pain.  "I  have  not 
lost  yet,"  were  his  words. 

She  shrank.  "You  will  not  hide  it.  You  will  do  right 
by — by  him,"  she  said,  with  difficulty. 

"Let  him  establish  his  claim  to  the  last  item  of  fact," 
he  said,  with  savage  hate. 

"Luke  Claridge  knew.  The  proofs  are  but  just  across 
the  way,  no  doubt,"  she  answered,  almost  coldly,  so 
had  his  words  congealed  her  heart. 

Their  great  moment  had  passed.  It  was  as  though 
a  cord  had  snapped  that  held  her  to  him,  and  in  the  re- 

336 


THE    WEAVERS 

coil  she  had  been  thrown  far  off  from  him.  Swift  as  his 
mind  worked,  it  had  not  seen  his  opportunity  to  win  her 
to  his  cause,  to  asphyxiate  her  high  senses,  her  quixotic 
justice,  by  that  old  flood  of  eloquence  and  compelling 
persuasion  of  the  emotions  with  which  he  had  swept  her 
to  the  altar — an  altar  of  sacrifice.  He  had  not  even 
done  what  he  had  left  London  to  do — make  sure  of  her, 
by  an  alluring  flattery  and  devotion,  no  difficult  duty 
with  one  so  beautiful  and  desirable;  though  neither  love 
of  beauty  nor  great  desire  was  strong  enough  in  him  to 
divert  him  from  his  course  for  an  hour,  save  by  his  own 
initiative.  His  mother's  letter  had  changed  it  all. 
A  few  hours  before  he  had  had  a  struggle  with  Sools- 
by,  and  now  another  struggle  on  the  same  theme  was 
here.  Fate  had  dealt  illy  with  him,  who  had  ever  been 
its  spoiled  child  and  favorite.  He  had  not  learned  yet 
the  arts  of  defence  against  adversity. 

"Luke  Claridge  is  dead,"  he  answered  sharply. 

"But  you  will  tell — him,  you  will  write  to  Egypt  and 
tell  your  brother?"  she  said,  the  conviction  slowly  com- 
ing to  her  that  he  would  not. 

"It  is  not  my  duty  to  displace  myself,  to  furnish 
evidence  against  myself — " 

"You  have  destroyed  the  evidence,"  she  intervened, 
a  little  scornfully. 

"If  there  were  no  more  than  that — "  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"Do  you  know  there  is  more?"  she  asked  searchingly. 

"In  whose  interests  are  you  speaking?"  he  rejoined, 
with  a  sneer.  A  sudden  fury  possessed  him.  Claridge 
Pasha — she  was  thinking  of  him! 

"In  yours — your  conscience,  your  honor." 

"There  is  over  thirty  years'  possession  on  my  side," 
he  rejoined. 

"It  is  not  as  if  it  were  going  from  your  family,"  she 
argued. 

337 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Family — what  is  he  to  me!" 

"What  is  any  one  to  you!"  she  returned  bitterly. 

"I  am  not  going  to  unravel  a  mystery,  in  order  to 
facilitate  the  cutting  of  my  own  throat." 

"It  might  be  worth  while  to  do  something  once  for 
another's  sake  than  your  own  —  it  would  break  the 
monotony,"  she  retorted,  all  her  sense  tortured  by  his 
words,  and  even  more  so  by  his  manner. 

Long  ago  Faith  had  said  in  Soolsby's  hut  that  he 
"blandished"  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact;  but 
Hylda  realized  with  a  lacerated  heart  that  he  had  ceased 
to  blandish  her.  Possession  had  altered  that.  Yet  how 
had  he  vowed  to  her  in  those  sweet  tempestuous  days 
of  his  courtship,  when  the  wind  of  his  passion  blew  so 
hard!     Had  one  of  the  vows  been  kept? 

Even  as  she  looked  at  him  now,  words  she  had  read 
some  days  before  flashed  through  her  mind — they  had 
burnt  themselves  into  her  brain: 

"  Broken  faith  is  the  crown  of  evils, 

Broken  vows  are  the  knotted  thongs 
Set  in  the  hands  of  laughing  devils, 
To  scourge  us  for  deep  wrongs. 

"  Broken  hearts,  when  all  is  ended, 
Bear  the  better  all  after-stings; 
Bruised  once,  the  citadel  mended 
Standeth  through  all  things." 

Suddenly  he  turned  upon  her  with  aggrieved  petu- 
lance.    "Why  are  you  so  eager  for  proof  ?" 

"Oh,  I  have,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flood  of  tears 
in  her  voice,  though  her  eyes  were  dry — -"I  have  the 
feeling  your  mother  had,  that  nothing  will  be  well 
until  you  undo  the  wrong  your  father  did.  I  know  it 
was  not  your  fault.  I  feel  for  you— oh,  believe  me,  I 
feel  as  I  have  never  felt,  could  never  feel,  for  myself. 
It  was  brought  on  you  by  your  father,  but  you  must  be 

338 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  more  innocent  because  he  was  so  guilty.  You  have 
had  much  out  of  it,  it  has  helped  you  on  your  way. 
It  does  not  mean  so  much  now.  By-and-by  another — 
an  English — peerage  may  be  yours  by  your  own  achieve- 
ment. Let  it  go.  There  is  so  much  left,  Harry.  It  is 
a  small  thing  in  a  world  of  work.  It  means  nothing 
to  me." 

Once  again,  even  when  she  had  given  up  all  hope, 
seeing  what  was  the  bent  of  his  mind — once  again  she 
made  essay  to  win  him  out  of  his  selfishness.  If  he 
would  only  say,  "I  have  you  left,"  how  she  would  strive 
to  shut  all  else  out  of  her  life! 

He  was  exasperated.  His  usual  prescience  and  pru- 
dence forsook  him.  It  angered  him  that  she  should 
press  him  to  an  act  of  sacrifice  for  the  man  who  had  so 
great  an  influence  upon  her.  Perversity  possessed  him. 
Lifelong  egotism  was  too  strong  for  wisdom,  or  dis- 
cretion. 

Suddenly  he  caught  her  hands  in  both  of  his  and  said 
hoarsely,  "Do  you  love  me — answer  me,  do  you  love 
me  with  all  your  heart  and  soul  ?  The  truth  now,  as 
though  it  were  your  last  word  on  earth." 

Always  self.  She  had  asked,  if  not  in  so  many  words, 
for  a  little  love,  something  for  herself  to  feed  on  in  the 
darkening  days  for  him,  for  her,  for  both;  and  he  was 
thinking  only  of  himself. 

She  shrank,  but  her  hands  lay  passive  in  his.  "No, 
not  with  all  my  heart  and  soul — but — oh — !" 

He  flung  her  hands  from  him.  "No,  not  with  all 
your  heart  and  soul — I  know!  You  arc  willing  to  sac- 
rifice me  for  him,  and  you  think  I  do  not  understand." 

She  drew  herself  up,  with  burning  cheeks  and  flash- 
ing eyes.  "You  understand  nothing — nothing.  If  you 
had  ever  understood  me,  or  any  human  being,  or  any 
human  heart,  you  would  not  have  ruined  all  that  might 
have  given  you  an  undying  love,  something  that  would 

339 


THE    WEAVERS 

have  followed  you  through  fire  and  flood  to  the  grave. 
You  cannot  love.  You  do  not  understand  love.  Self 
— self,  always  self.  Oh,  you  are  mad,  mad,  to  have 
thrown  it  all  away,  all  that  might  have  given  happiness! 
All  that  I  have,  all  that  I  am,  has  been  at  your  service; 
everything  has  been  bent  and  tuned  to  your  pleasure, 
for  your  good.  All  has  been  done  for  you,  with  thought 
of  you  and  your  position  and  your  advancement,  and 
now — now,  when  you  have  killed  all  that  might  have 
been  yours,  you  cry  out  in  anger  that  it  is  dying,  and 
you  insinuate  what  you  should  kill  another  for  insin- 
uating. Oh,  the  wicked,  cruel  folly  of  it  all!  You  sug- 
gest— you  dare! — I  never  heard  a  word  from  David 
Claridge  that  might  not  be  written  on  the  hoardings. 
His  honor  is  deeper  than  that  which  might  attach  to 
the  title  of  Earl  of  Eglington." 

She  seemed  to  tower  above  him.  For  an  instant  she 
looked  him  in  the  eyes  with  frigid  dignity,  but  a  great 
scorn  in  her  face.  Then  she  went  to  the  door  —  he 
hastened  to  open  it  for  her. 

"You  will  be  very  sorry  for  this,"  he  said  stubbornly. 
He  was  too  dumfounded  to  be  discreet,  too  suddenly 
embarrassed  by  the  turn  affairs  had  taken.  He  realized 
too  late  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  that  he  had  lost 
his  hold  upon  her. 

As  she  passed  through,  there  suddenly  flashed  before 
her  mind  the  scene  in  the  laboratory  with  the  chairmaker. 
She  felt  the  meaning  of  it  now. 

"You  do  not  intend  to  tell  him — perhaps  Soolsby 
has  done  so,"  she  said  keenly,  and  moved  on  to  the 
staircase. 

He  was  thunderstruck  at  her  intuition.  "Why  do 
you  want  to  rob  yourself?"  he  asked  after  her  vaguely. 

She  turned  back.  "Think  of  your  mother's  letter 
that  you  destroyed,"  she  rejoined  solemnly  and  quietly. 
"Was  it  right?" 

340 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  shut  the  door,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  "I 
will  put  it  straight  with  her  to-morrow,"  he  said  help- 
lessly. 

He  sat  for  a  half-hour  silent,  planning  his  course. 
At  last  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  butler 
appeared. 

"Some  one  from  the  Foreign  Office,  my  lord,"  he 
said. 

A  moment  afterwards  a  young  official,  his  subordinate, 
entered.  'There's  the  deuce  to  pay  in  Egypt,  sir; 
I've  brought  the  despatch,"  he  said. 


BOOK     IV 


XXVIII 

NAHOUM    TURNS    THE    SCREW 

Laughing  to  himself,  Higli  Pasha  sat  with  the  stem 
of  a  narghileh  in  his  mouth.  His  big  shoulders  kept 
time  to  the  quivering  of  his  fat  stomach.  He  was 
sitting  in  a  small  courtyard  of  Nahoum  Pasha's  palace, 
waiting  for  its  owner  to  appear.  Meanwhile  he  exer- 
cised a  hilarous  patience.  The  years  had  changed  him 
little  since  he  had  been  sent  on  that  expedition  against 
the  southern  tribes  which  followed  hard  on  David's 
appointment  to  office.  As  David  had  expected,  few 
of  the  traitorous  officers  returned.  Diaz  had  ignomin- 
iously  died  of  the  bite  of  a  tarantula  before  a  blow 
had  been  struck,  but  Higli  had  gratefully  received  a 
slight  wound  in  the  first  encounter,  which  enabled  him 
to  beat  a  safe  retreat  to  Cairo.  He  alone  of  the  chief 
of  the  old  conspirators  was  left.  Achmet  was  still  at 
the  Place  of  Lepers,  and  the  old  nest  of  traitors  was 
scattered  forever. 

Only  Nahoum  and  Higli  were  left,  and  between  these 
two  there  had  never  been  partnership  or  understanding. 
Nahoum  was  not  the  man  to  trust  to  confederates,  and 
Higli  Pasha  was  too  contemptible  a  coadjutor.  Nahoum 
had  faith  in  no  one  save  Mizraim,  the  Chief  Eunuch,  but 
Mizraim  alone  was  better  than  a  thousand;  and  he  was 
secret — and  terrible.  Yet  Higli  had  a  conviction  that 
Nahoum's  alliance  with  David  was  a  sham,  and  that 
David  would  pay  the  price  of  misplaced  confidence  one 

345 


THE    WEAVERS 

day.  More  than  once  when  David's  plans  had  had  a 
setback,  Higli  had  contrived  a  meeting  with  Nahoum, 
to  judge  for  himself  the  true  position. 

For  his  visit  to-day  he  had  invented  a  reason — a  mat- 
ter of  finance;  but  his  real  reason  was  concealed  be- 
hind the  malevolent  merriment  by  which  he  was  now 
seized.  So  absorbed  was  he  that  he  did  not  heed  the 
approach  of  another  visitor  down  an  angle  of  the  court- 
yard.    He  was  roused  by  a  voice. 

"Well,  what's  tickling  you  so,  pasha?" 

The  voice  was  drawling,  and  quite  gentle;  but  at  the 
sound  of  it,  Higli's  laugh  stopped  short,  and  the  mus- 
cles of  his  face  contracted.  If  there  was  one  man  of 
whom  he  had  a  wholesome  fear  —  why,  he  could  not 
tell  —  it  was  this  round-faced,  abrupt,  imperturbable 
American,  Claridge  Pasha's  right-hand  man.  Legends 
of  resourcefulness  and  bravery  had  gathered  round  his 
name. 

"Who's  been  stroking  your  chin  with  a  feather, 
pasha?"  he  continued,  his  eye  piercing  the  other  like 
a  gimlet. 

"It  was  an  amusing  tale  I  heard  at  Assiout,  effendi," 
was  Higli's  abashed  and  surly  reply. 

"Oh,  at  Assiout!"  rejoined  Lacey.  "Yes,  they  tell 
funny  stories  at  Assiout.  And  when  were  you  at 
Assiout,  pasha?" 

"Two  days  ago,  effendi." 

"And  so  you  thought  you'd  tell  the  funny  little 
story  to  Nahoum  as  quick  as  could  be,  eh?  He  likes 
funny  stories,  same  as  you — damn,  nice,  funny  little 
stories,  eh?" 

There  was  something  chilly  in  Lacey's  voice  now, 
which  Higli  did  not  like ;  something  much  too  menacing 
and  contemptuous  for  a  mere  man-of-all-work  to  the 
Inglesi.     Higli  bridled  up,  his  eyes  glared  sulkily. 

"It  is  but  my  own  business  if  I  laugh  or  if  I  curse, 

346 


THE    WEAVERS 

effendi,"  he  replied,  his  hand  shaking  a  little  on  the  stem 
of  the  narghileh. 

"Precisely,  my  diaphanous  polyandrist;  but  it  isn't 
quite  your  own  affair  what  you  laugh  at — not  if  I  know 
it!" 

"Does  the  effendi  think  I  was  laughing  at  him?" 

"The  effendi  thinks  not*  The  effendi  knows  that  the 
descendant  of  a  hundred  tigers  was  laughing  at  the  funny 
little  story,  of  how  the  two  cotton-mills  that  Claridge 
Pasha  built  were  burned  down  all  in  one  night,  and  one 
of  his  steamers  sent  down  the  cataract  at  Assouan.  A 
knock-down  blow  for  Claridge  Pasha,  eh?  That's  all 
you  thought  of,  wasn't  it?  And  it  doesn't  matter  to 
you  that  the  cotton-mills  made  thousands  better  off, 
and  started  new  industries  in  Egypt.  No,  it  only  matters 
to  you  that  Claridge  Pasha  loses  half  his  fortune,  and  that 
you  think  his  feet  are  in  the  quicksands,  and  '11  be  sucked 
in,  to  make  an  Egyptian  holiday.  Anything  to  dis- 
credit him  here,  eh?  I'm  not  sure  what  else  you  know; 
but  I'll  find  out,  my  noble  pasha,  and  if  you've  had 
your  hand  in  it — but  no,  you  ain't  game-cock  enough  for 
that!  But  if  you  were,  if  you  had  a  hand  in  the  making 
of  your  funny  little  story,  there's  a  nutcracker  that  'd 
break  the  shell  of  that  joke — " 

He  turned  round  quickly,  seeing  a  shadow  and  hear- 
ing a  movement.  Nahoum  was  but  a  few  feet  away. 
There  was  a  bland  smile  on  his  face,  a  look  of  innocence 
in  his  magnificent  blue  eye.  As  he  met  Lacey's  look, 
the  smile  left  his  lips,  a  grave  sympathy  appeared  to 
possess  them,  and  he  spoke  softly, — • 

"I  know  the  thing  that  burns  thy  heart,  effendi,  to 
whom  be  the  flowers  of  hope  and  the  fruits  of  merit. 
It  is  even  so — a  gnat  blow  has  fallen.  Two  hours  since 
I  heard.  I  went  at  once  to  see  Claridge  Pasha,  but 
found  him  not.  Does  he  know,  think  you?"  he  added 
sadly. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"May  your  heart  never  be  harder  than  it  is,  pasha; 

and  when  I  left  the  Saadat  an  hour  ago,  he  did  not  know. 

His  messenger  hadn't  a  steamer  like  High  Pasha  there. 

But  he  was  coming  to  see  you;  and  that's  why  I'm  here. 

I've  been  brushing  the  flies  off  this  sore  on  the  hump 

of  Egypt  while  waiting."     He  glanced  with  disdain  at 

High. 

A  smile  rose  like  liquid  in  the  eye  of  Nahoum  and 

subsided,  then  he  turned  to  High  inquiringly. 

"I  have  come  on  business,  excellency;  the  railway  to 

Rosetta,  and — " 

"To-morrow — or  the  next  day,"  responded  Nahoum 

irritably,  and  turned  again  to  Lacey. 

As  Higli's  huge  frame  disappeared  through  a  gateway, 

Nahoum  motioned  Lacey  to  a  divan,  and  summoned  a 

slave  for  cooling  drinks.     Lacey 's  eyes  now  watched  him 

with  an  innocence  nearly  as  childlike  as  his  own.     Lacey 

well  knew  that  here  was  a  foe  worthy  of  the  best  steel. 

That  he  was  a  foe,  and  a  malignant  foe,  he  had  no  doubt 
whatever;  he  had  settled  the  point  in  his  mind  long  ago; 
and  two  letters  he  had  received  from  Lady  Eglington, 
in  which  she  had  said  in  so  many  words,  "Watch  Na- 
houm!" had  made  him  vigilant  and  intuitive.  He  knew, 
meanwhile,  that  he  was  following  the  trail  of  a  master- 
hunter  who  covered  up  his  tracks.  Lacey  was  as  cer- 
tain as  though  he  had  the  book  of  Nahoum's  mind  open 
in  his  hand,  that  David's  work  had  been  torn  down  again 
— and  this  time  with  dire  effect — by  this  Armenian, 
whom  David  trusted  like  a  brother.  But  the  black 
doors  that  closed  on  the  truth  on  every  side  only  made 
him  more  determined  to  unlock  them;  and,  when  he 
faltered  as  to  his  own  powers,  he  trusted  Mahommed 
Hassan,  whose  devotion  to  David  had  given  him  eyes 
that  pierced  dark  places. 

"Surely  the  God  of  Israel  has  smitten  Claridge  Pasha 
sorely.     My  heart  will  mourn  to  look  upon  his  face.    The 

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THE    WEAVERS 

day  is  insulting  in  its  brightness,"  continued  Nahoum 
with  a  sigh,  his  eyes  bent  upon  Lacey,  dejection  in  his 
shoulders. 

Lacey  started.  ''The  God  of  Israel!  '  How  blasphe- 
mous it  sounded  from  the  lips  of  Nahoum,  Oriental  of 
Orientals,  Christian  though  he  was  also! 

"I  think,  perhaps,  you'll  get  over  it,  pasha.  Man  is 
born  to  trouble,  and  you've  got  a  lot  of  courage.  I 
guess  you  could  see  other  people  bear  a  pile  of  suffering, 
and  never  flinch." 

Nahoum  appeared  not  to  notice  the  gibe.  "It  is  a 
land  of  suffering,  effendi,"  he  sighed,  "and  one  sees 
what  one  sees." 

"Have  you  any  idea,  any  real  sensible  idea,  how  those 
cotton-mills  got  afire?"  Laccy's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Na- 
houm's  face. 

The  other  met  his  gaze  calmly.  "Who  can  tell!  An 
accident,  perhaps,  or — " 

"Or  some  one  set  the  mills  on  fire  in  several  places 
at  once — they  say  the  buildings  flamed  out  in  every 
corner;  and  it  was  the  only  time  in  a  month  they  hadn't 
been  running  night  and  day.      Funny,  isn't  it?" 

"It  looks  like  the  work  of  an  enemy,  effendi."  Na- 
houm shook  his  head  gravely.  "A  fortune  destroyed 
in  an  hour,  as  it  were.  But  we  shall  get  the  dog.  We 
shall  find  him.  There  is  no  hole  deep  enough  to  hide 
him  from  us." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  go  looking  in  holes  for  him,  pasha. 
He  isn't  any  eavc-dweller,  that  incendiary;  he's  an  artist 
— no  palace  is  too  unlikely  for  him.  No,  I  wouldn't  go 
poking  in  mud  huts  to  find  him." 

'Thou  dost  not  think  that  High  Pasha — "     Nahoum 
seemed  startled  out  of  equanimity  by  the  thought. 

Lacey  eyed  him  meditatively,  and  said  reflectively, 
"Say,  you're  an  artist,  pasha.  You  are  a  guesser  of  the 
first   rank.     But   I'd  guess  again.     Higli   Pasha  would 

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THE    WEAVERS 

have  done  it,  if  it  had  ever  occurred  to  him;  and  he'd  had 
the  pluck.  But  it  didn't,  and  he  hadn't.  What  I  can't 
understand  is  that  the  artist  that  did  it  should  have 
done  it  before  Claridge  Pasha  left  for  the  Soudan.  Here 
we  were  just  about  to  start;  and  if  we'd  got  away  south, 
the  job  would  have  done  more  harm,  and  the  Saadat 
would  have  been  out  of  the  way.  No,  I  can't  under- 
stand why  the  firebug  didn't  let  us  get  clean  away;  for 
if  the  Saadat  stays  here,  he'll  be  where  he  can  stop  the 
underground  mining." 

Nahoum's  self-control  did  not  desert  him,  though  he 
fully  realized  that  this  man  suspected  him.  On  the 
surface  Lacey  was  right.  It  would  have  seemed  better 
to  let  David  go,  and  destroy  his  work  afterwards,  but 
he  had  been  moved  by  other  considerations,  and  his 
design  was  deep.  His  own  emissaries  were  in  the  Sou- 
dan, announcing  David's  determination  to  abolish  sla- 
very, secretly  stirring  up  feeling  against  him,  preparing 
for  the  final  blow  to  be  delivered,  when  he  went  again 
among  the  southern  tribes.  He  had  waited  and  waited, 
and  now  the  time  was  come.  Had  he,  Nahoum,  not 
agreed  with  David  that  the  time  had  come  for  the  slave- 
trade  to  go?  Had  he  not  encouraged  him  to  take  this 
bold  step,  in  the  sure  belief  that  it  would  overwhelm 
him,  and  bring  him  an  ignominious  death,  embittered  by 
total  failure  of  all  he  had  tried  to  do  ? 

For  years  he  had  secretly  loosened  the  foundations  of 
David's  work,  and  the  triumph  of  Oriental  duplicity  over 
Western  civilization  and  integrity  was  sweet  in  his 
mouth.  And  now  there  was  reason  to  believe  that,  at 
last,  Kaid  was  turning  against  the  Inglesi.  Everything 
would  come  at  once.  If  all  that  he  had  planned  was 
successful,  even  this  man  before  him  should  aid  in  his 
master's  destruction. 

"If  it  was  all  done  by  an  enemy,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  Lacey,  at  last,  "would  it  all  be  reasoned  out  like  that? 

35o 


THE    WEAVERS 

Is  hatred  so  logical?  Dost  thou  think  Claridge  Pasha 
will  not  go  now?  The  troops  are  ready  at  Wady-Halfa, 
everything  is  in  order;  the  last  load  of  equipment  has 
gone.  Will  not  Claridge  Pasha  find  the  money  some- 
how? I  will  do  what  I  can.  My  heart  is  moved  to 
aid  him." 

"Yes,  you'd  do  what  you  could,  pasha,"  Lacey  re- 
joined enigmatically,  "but  whether  it  would  set  the 
Saadat  on  his  expedition  or  not  is  a  question.  But  I 
guess,  after  all,  he's  got  to  go.  He  willed  it  so.  People 
may  try  to  stop  him,  and  they  may  tear  down  what  he 
does,  but  he  does  at  last  what  he  starts  to  do,  and  no 
one  can  prevent  him — not  any  one.  Yes,  he's  going  on 
this  expedition;  and  he'll  have  the  money,  too."  There 
was  a  strange  abstracted  look  in  his  face,  as  though  he 
saw  something  which  held  him  fascinated. 

Presently,  as  if  with  an  effort,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  took 
the  red  fez  from  his  head,  and  fanned  himself  with  it  for 
a  moment.  "Don't  you  forget  it,  pasha;  the  Saadat 
will  win.  He  can't  be  beaten,  not  in  a  thousand  years. 
Here  he  comes." 

Nahoum  got  to  his  feet  as  David  came  quickly 
through  the  small  gateway  of  the  courtyard,  his  head 
erect,  his  lips  smiling,  his  eyes  sweeping  the  place.  He 
came  forward  briskly  to  them.  It  was  plain  he  had  not 
heard  the  evil  news. 

"Peace  be  to  thee,  Saadat,  and  may  thy  life  be  fenced 
about  with  safety!"  said  Nahoum. 

David  laid  a  hand  on  Lacey 's  arm  and  squeezed  it, 
smiling  at  him  with  such  friendship  that  Lacey 's  eyes 
moistened,  and  he  turned  his  head  away. 

There  was  a  quiet  elation  in  David's  look.  'We  are 
ready  at  last,"  he  said,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 
"Well,  well,"  he  added,  almost  boyishly,  "has  thee 
nothing  to  say,  Nahoum?" 

Nahoum  turned  his  head  away  as  though  overcome. 

351 


THE    WEAVERS 

David's  face  grew  instantly  grave.  He  turned  to  Lacey. 
Never  before  had  he  seen  Lacey's  face  with  a  look  like 
this.  He  grasped  Lacey's  arm.  "What  is  it?"  he 
asked  quietly.     "What  does  thee  want  to  say  to  me?" 

But  Lacey  could  not  speak,  and  David  turned  again 
to  Nahoum.  "What  is  there  to  say  to  me?"  he  asked. 
"Something  has  happened — what  is  it?  .  .  .  Come,  many 
things  have  happened  before.  This  can  be  no  worse. 
Do  thee  speak,"  he  urged  gently. 

"Saadat,"  said  Nahoum,  as  though  under  the  stress 
of  feeling,  "the  cotton-mills  at  Tashah  and  Mini  are 
gone — burned  to  the  ground." 

For  a  moment  David  looked  at  him  without  sight  in 
his  eyes,  and  his  face  grew  very  pale.  "Excellency, 
all  in  one  night,  the  besom  of  destruction  was  abroad," 
he  heard  Nahoum  say,  as  though  from  great  depths 
below  him.  He  slowly  turned  his  head  to  look  at 
Lacey.  "Is  this  true?"  he  asked  at  last  in  an  unsteady 
voice.     Lacey  could  not  speak,  but  inclined  his  head. 

David's  figure  seemed  to  shrink  for  a  moment,  his 
face  had  a  withered  look,  and  his  head  fell  forward  in  a 
mood  of  terrible  dejection. 

"Saadat!  Oh,  my  God,  Saadat,  don't  take  it  so!" 
said  Lacey  brokenly,  and  stepped  between  David  and 
Nahoum.  He  could  not  bear  that  the  stricken  face 
and  figure  should  be  seen  by  Nahoum,  whom  he  believed 
to  be  secretly  gloating.  "Saadat,"  he  said  brokenly, 
"God  has  always  been  with  you;  He  hasn't  forgotten 
you  now." 

"The  work  of  years,"  David  murmured,  and  seemed 
not  to  hear. 

"When  God  permits,  shall  man  despair?"  interposed 
Nahoum,  in  a  voice  that  lingered  on  the  words. 

Nahoum  accomplished  what  Lacey  had  failed  to  do. 
His  voice  had  pierced  to  some  remote  corner  in  David's 
nature,  and  roused  him.     Was  it  that  doubt,  suspicion, 

352 


THE    WEAVERS 

had  been  wakened  at  last?  Was  some  sensitive  nerve 
touched,  that  this  Oriental  should  offer  Christian  com- 
fort to  him  in  his  need — to  him  who  had  seen  the  greater 
light?  Or  was  it  that  some  unreality  in  the  words 
struck  a  note  which  excited  a  new  and  subconscious  un- 
derstanding? Perhaps  it  was  a  little  of  all  three.  He 
did  not  stop  to  inquire.  In  crises  such  as  that  through 
which  he  was  passing,  the  mind  and  body  act  without 
reason,  rather  by  the  primal  instinct,  the  certain  call 
of  the  things  that  were  before  reason  was. 

"God  is  with  the  patient,"  continued  Nahoum;  and 
Lacey  set  his  teeth  to  bear  this  insult  to  all  things. 

But  Nahoum  accomplished  what  he  had  not  antici- 
pated. David  straightened  himself  up,  and  clasped  his 
hands  behind  him.  By  a  supreme  effort  of  the  will  he 
controlled  himself,  and  the  color  came  back  faintly  to 
his  face.  "God's  will  be  done,"  he  said,  and  looked 
Nahoum  calmly  in  the  eyes.  "It  was  no  accident," 
he  added  with  conviction.  "It  was  an  enemy  of 
Egypt." 

Suddenly  the  thing  rushed  over  him  again,  going 
through  his  veins  like  a  poisonous  ether,  and  clamping 
his  heart  as  with  iron.  "All  to  do  over  again!"  he  said 
brokenly,  and  again  he  caught  Lacey's  arm. 

With  an  uncontrollable  impulse  Lacey  took  David's 
hand  in  his  own  warm,  human  grasp. 

"Once  I  thought  I  lost  everything  in  Mexico,  Saadat, 
and  I  understand  what  you  feel.  But  all  wasn't  lost 
in  Mexico,  as  I  found  at  last,  and  I  got  something,  too, 
that  I  didn't  put  in.  Say,  let  us  go  from  here.  God  is 
backing  you,  Saadat.     Isn't  it  all  right — same  as  ever?" 

David  was  himself  again.  "Thee  is  a  good  man," 
he  said,  and  through  the  sadness  of  his  eyes  there  stole 
a  smile.  "Let  us  go,"  he  said.  Then  he  added  in  a 
business-like  way,  "To-morrow  at  seven,  Nahoum. 
There  is  much  to  do." 

353 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  turned  towards  the  gate  with  Lacey,  where  the 
horses  waited.  Mahommed  Hassan  met  them  as  they 
prepared  to  mount.  He  handed  David  a  letter.  It  was 
from  Faith,  and  contained  the  news  of  Luke  Claridge's 
death.  Everything  had  come  at  once.  He  stumbled 
into  the  saddle  with  a  moan. 

"At  last  I  have  drawn  blood,"  said  Nahoum  to  him- 
self with  grim  satisfaction,  as  they  disappeared.  "It  is 
the  beginning  of  the  end.  It  will  crush  him — I  saw  it 
in  his  eyes.     God  of  Israel,  I  shall  rule  again  in  Egypt!" 


XXIX 

THE    RECOIL 

It  was  a  great  day  in  the  Muslim  year.  The  Mahmal, 
or  Sacred  Carpet,  was  leaving  Cairo  on  its  long  pilgrimage 
of  thirty-seven  days  to  Mecca  and  Mahomet's  tomb. 
Great  guns  boomed  from  the  Citadel,  as  the  gorgeous 
procession,  forming  itself  beneath  the  Mokattam  Hills, 
began  its  slow  march  to  where,  seated  in  the  shade  of  an 
ornate  pavilion,  Prince  Kaid  awaited  its  approach  to  pay 
devout  homage.  Thousands  looked  down  at  the  scene 
from  the  ramparts  of  the  Citadel,  from  the  overhanging 
cliffs,  and  from  the  tops  of  the  houses  that  hung  on  the 
ledges  of  rock  rising  abruptly  from  the  level  ground,  to 
which  the  last  of  the  famed  Mamelukes  leaped  to  their 
destruction. 

Now  to  Prince  Raid's  ears  there  came  from  hundreds 
of  hoarse  throats  the  cry,  "Allah!  Allah!  May  thy  jour- 
ney be  with  safety  to  Arafat!"  mingling  with  the  harsh 
music  of  the  fifes  and  drums. 

Kaid  looked  upon  the  scene  with  drawn  face  and 
lowering  brows.  His  retinue  watched  him  with  alarm. 
A  whisper  had  passed  that,  two  nights  before,  the  Ef- 
fendina  had  sent  in  haste  for  a  famous  Italian  physician 
lately  come  to  Cairo,  and  that  since  his  visit  Kaid  had 
n  sullen  and  depressed.  It  was  also  the  gossip  of  the 
bazaars  that  he  had  suddenly  shown  favor  to  those  of 
the  Royal  House  and  to  other  reactionaries,  who  had 
been  enemies  to  the  influence  of  Claridge  Pasha.     This 

355 


THE    WEAVERS 

rumor  had  been  followed  by  an  official  proclamation  that 
no  Europeans  or  Christians  would  be  admitted  to  the 
ceremony  of  the  Sacred  Carpet. 

Thus  it  was  that  Kaid  looked  out  on  a  vast  multitude 
of  Muslims,  in  which  not  one  European  face  showed,  and 
from  lip  to  lip  there  passed  the  word,  "  Harrik — Harrik 
— remember  Harrik!     Kaid  turns  from  the  infidel!" 

They  crowded  near  the  great  pavilion — as  near  as  the 
mounted  Nubians  would  permit — to  see  Kaid's  face; 
while  he,  with  eyes  wandering  over  the  vast  assemblage, 
was  lost  in  dark  reflections.  For  a  year  he  had  struggled 
against  a  growing  conviction  that  some  obscure  disease 
was  sapping  his  strength.  He  had  hid  it  from  every  one, 
until,  at  last,  distress  and  pain  had  overcome  him.  The 
verdict  of  the  Italian  expert  was  that  possible,  but  by 
no  means  certain,  cure  might  come  from  an  operation 
which  must  be  delayed  for  a  month  or  more. 

Suddenly,  the  world  had  grown  unfamiliar  to  him;  he 
saw  it  from  afar ;  but  his  subconscious  self  involuntarily 
registered  impressions,  and  he  moved  mechanically 
through  the  ceremonies  and  duties  of  the  immediate 
present.  Thrown  back  upon  himself,  to  fight  his  own 
fight,  with  the  instinct  of  primary  life  his  mind  involun- 
tarily drew  for  refuge  to  the  habits  and  predispositions 
of  youth;  and  for  two  days  he  had  shut  himself  away 
from  the  activities  with  which  David  and  Nahoum  were 
associated.  Being  deeply  engaged  with  the  details  of 
the  expedition  to  the  Soudan,  David  had  not  gone  to  the 
Palace;  and  he  was  unaware  of  the  turn  which  things 
had  taken. 

Three  times,  with  slow  and  stately  steps,  the  pro- 
cession wound  in  a  circle  in  the  great  square,  before  it 
approached  the  pavilion  where  the  Effendina  sat,  the 
splendid  camels  carrying  the  embroidered  tent  wherein 
the  Carpet  rested,  and  that  which  bore  the  Emir  of  the 
Pilgrims,  moving  gracefully  like  ships  at  sea.     Naked 

356 


THE    WEAVERS 

swordsmen,  with  upright  and  shining  blades,  were  fol- 
lowed by  men  on  camels  bearing  kettle-drums.  After 
them  came  Arab  riders  with  fresh  green  branches  fast- 
ened to  the  saddles  like  plumes,  while  others  carried 
flags  and  banners  emblazoned  with  texts  and  symbols. 
Troops  of  horsemen  in  white  woollen  cloaks,  sheikhs  and 
Bedouins  with  flowing  robes  and  huge  turbans,  religious 
chiefs  of  the  great  sects,  imperturbable  and  statuesque, 
were  in  strange  contrast  to  the  shouting  dervishes  and 
camel-drivers  and  eager  pilgrims. 

At  last  the  great  camel  with  its  sacred  burden  stopped 
in  front  of  Kaid  for  his  prayer  and  blessing.  As  he  held 
the  tassels,  lifted  the  gold-fringed  curtain,  and  invoked 
Allah's  blessing,  a  half-naked  sheikh  ran  forward,  and, 
raising  his  hand  high  above  his  head,  cried  shrilly,  "  Kaid, 
Kaid,  hearken!" 

Rough  hands  caught  him  away,  but  Kaid  commanded 
them  to  desist;  and  the  man  called  a  blessing  on  him, 
and  cried  aloud: 

"Listen,  O  Kaid,  son  of  the  stars  and  the  light  of  day. 
God  hath  exalted  thee.  Thou  art  the  Egyptian  of  all 
the  Egyptians.  In  thy  hand  is  power.  But  thou  art 
mortal  even  as  I.  Behold,  O  Kaid,  in  the  hour  that  I 
was  born  thou  wast  born,  I  in  the  dust  without  thy  Pal- 
ace wall,  thou  amid  the  splendid  things.  But  thy  star 
is  my  star.  Behold,  as  God  ordains,  the  Tree  of  Life  was 
shaken  on  the  night  when  all  men  pray  and  cry  aloud  to 
God— even  the  Night  of  the  Falling  Leaves.  And  I 
watched  the  falling  leaves;  and  I  saw  my  leaf,  and  it  was 
withered,  but  only  a  little  withered,  and  so  I  live  yet  a 
little.  But  I  looked  for  thy  leaf,  thou  who  wert  born  in 
that  moment  when  I  waked  to  the  world.  I  looked 
long,  but  I  found  no  leaf,  neither  green  nor  withered. 
But  I  looked  again  upon  my  leaf,  and  then  I  saw  that 
thy  name  now  was  also  upon  my  leaf,  and  that  it  was 
neither  green  nor  withered;  but  was  a  leaf  that  drooped 

357 


THE    WEAVERS 

as  when  an  evil  wind  has  passed  and  drunk  its  life.  Lis- 
ten, O  Kaid!  Upon  the  tomb  of  Mahomet  I  will  set  my 
lips,  and  it  may  be  that  the  leaf  of  my  life  will  come 
fresh  and  green  again.  But  thou — wilt  thou  not  come 
also  to  the  lord  Mahomet's  tomb?  Or"  -he  paused 
and  raised  his  voice — "  or  wilt  thou  stay  and  lay  thy  lips 
upon  the  cross  of  the  infidel?    Wilt  thou — " 

He  could  say  no  more,  for  Raid's  face  now  darkened 
with  anger.  He  made  a  gesture,  and,  in  an  instant,  the 
man  was  gagged  and  bound,  while  a  sullen  silence  fell 
upon  the  crowd.  Kaid  suddenly  became  aware  of  this 
change  of  feeling,  and  looked  round  him.  Presently  his 
old  prudence  and  subtlety  came  back,  his  face  cleared  a 
little,  and  he  called  aloud,  "Unloose  the  man,  and  let 
him  come  to  me."  An  instant  after,  the  man  was  on 
his  knees,  silent  before  him. 

"What  is  thy  name?"  Kaid  asked. 
"Kaid  Ibrahim,  Effendina,"  was  the  reply. 
"Thou  hast  misinterpreted  thy  dream,  Kaid  Ibrahim," 
answered  the  Effendina.  "The  drooping  leaf  was  token 
of  the  danger  in  which  thy  life  should  be,  and  my  name 
upon  thy  leaf  was  token  that  I  should  save  thee  from 
death.  Behold,  I  save  thee.  Inshallah,  go  in  peace! 
There  is  no  God  but  God,  and  the  Cross  is  the  sign  of  a 
false  prophet.  Thou  art  mad.  God  give  thee  a  new 
mind.     Go." 

The  man  was  presently  lost  in  the  sweltering,  half- 
frenzied  crowd;  but  he  had  done  his  work,  and  his  words 
rang  in  the  ears  of  Kaid  as  he  rode  away. 

A  few  hours  afterwards,  bitter  and  rebellious,  mur- 
muring to  himself,  Kaid  sat  in  a  darkened  room  of  his 
Nile  Palace  beyond  the  city.  So  few  years  on  the  throne, 
so  young,  so  much  on  which  to  lay  the  hand  of  pleasure, 
so  many  millions  to  command ;  and  yet  the  slave  at  his 
door  had  a  surer  hold  on  life  and  all  its  joy  and  lures  than 

358 


THE    WEAVERS 

he,  Prince  Raid,  ruler  of  Egypt!  There  was  on  him  that 
barbaric  despair  which  has  taken  dreadful  toll  of  life  for 
the  decree  of  destiny.  Across  the  record  of  this  day,  as 
across  the  history  of  many  an  Eastern  and  pagan  tyrant, 
was  written,  "He  would  not  die  alone."  That  the  world 
should  go  on  when  he  was  gone,  that  men  should  buy 
and  sell  and  laugh  and  drink,  and  flaunt  it  in  the  sun, 
while  he,  Prince  Ka'id,  would  be  done  with  it  all — 

He  was  roused  by  the  rustling  of  a  robe.  Before  him 
stood  the  Arab  physician,  Sharif  Bey,  who  had  been  in 
his  father's  house  and  his  own  for  a  lifetime.  It  was 
many  a  year  since  his  ministrations  to  Ka'id  had  ceased ; 
but  he  had  remained  on  in  the  Palace,  doing  service  to 
those  who  received  him,  and — it  was  said  by  the  evil- 
tongucd — granting  certificates  of  death  out  of  harmony 
with  dark  facts,  a  sinister  and  useful  figure.  His  beard 
was  white,  his  face  was  friendly,  almost  benevolent,  but 
his  eyes  had  a  light  caught  from  no  celestial  flame. 

His  look  was  confident  now,  as  his  eyes  bent  on  Ka'id. 
He  had  lived  long,  he  had  seen  much,  he  had  heard  of  the 
peril  that  had  been  foreshadowed  by  the  infidel  physician; 
and,  by  a  sure  instinct,  he  knew  that  his  own  opportunity 
had  come.  He  knew  that  Ka'id  would  snatch  at  any 
offered  comfort,  would  cherish  any  alleviating  lie,  would 
steal  back  from  science  and  civilization  and  the  modern 
palace  to  the  superstition  of  the  fellah's  hut.  Were  not 
all  men  alike  when  the  neboot  of  Fate  struck  them  down 
into  the  terrible  loneliness  of  doom,  numbing  their 
minds?  Luck  would  be  with  him  that  offered  first 
succor  in  that  dark  hour.  Sharif  had  come  at  the  right 
moment  for  Sharif. 

Ka'id  looked  at  him  with  dull  yet  anxious  eyes.  "Did 
I  not  command  that  none  should  enter?"  he  asked 
presently,  in  a  thick  voice. 

"Am  I  not  thy  physician,  Effendina,  to  whom  be  the 
undying  years?     When  the  Effendina  is  sick,  shall  I  not 

24  359 


THE    WEAVERS 

heal?  Have  I  not  waited  like  a  dog  at  thy  door  these 
many  years,  till  that  the  time  would  come  when  none 
could  heal  thee  save  Sharif?" 

"What  canst  thou  give  me?" 

"What  the  infidel  physician  gave  thee  not — I  can  give 
thee  hope.  Hast  thou  done  well,  O  Effendina,  to  turn 
from  thine  own  people?  Did  not  thine  own  father,  and 
did  not  Mehemet  Ali,  live  to  a  good  age?  Who  were 
their  physicians?  My  father  and  I,  and  my  father's 
father,  and  his  father's  father." 

"Thou  canst  cure  me  altogether? "  asked  Ka'id  hesitat- 
ingly. 

"Wilt  thou  not  have  faith  in  one  of  thine  own  race? 
Will  the  infidel  love  thee  as  do  we,  who  are  thy  children 
and  thy  brothers,  who  are  to  thee  as  a  nail  driven  in  the 
wall,  not  to  be  moved?  Thou  shalt  live — Inshallah, 
thou  shalt  have  healing  and  length  of  days! " 

He  paused  at  a  gesture  from  Ka'id,  for  a  slave  had 
entered  and  stood  waiting. 

' '  What  dost  thou  here  ?  Wert  thou  not  commanded  ? ' ' 
asked  Ka'id. 

"Effendina,  Claridge  Pasha  is  waiting,"  was  the  reply. 

Ka'id  frowned,  hesitated;  then,  with  a  sudden  resolve, 
made  a  gesture  of  dismissal  to  Sharif  Bey,  and  nodded 
David's  admittance  to  the  slave. 

As  David  entered,  he  passed  Sharif  Bey,  and  something 
in  the  look  on  the  Arab  physician's  face — a  secret  malig- 
nancy and  triumph — struck  him  strangely.  And  now  a 
fresh  anxiety  and  apprehension  rose  in  his  mind  as  he 
glanced  at  Ka'id.  The  eye  was  heavy  and  gloomy,  the 
face  was  clouded,  the  lips  once  so  ready  to  smile  at  him 
were  sullen  and  smileless  now.     David  stood  still,  waiting. 

"I  did  not  expect  thee  till  to-morrow,  Saadat,"  said 
Ka'id  moodily,  at  last.     "The  business  is  urgent?" 

"Effendina,"  said  David,  with  every  nerve  at  tension, 
yet  with  outward  self-control,  "I  have  to  report — "  he 

360 


THE    WEAVERS 

paused,  agitated;  then,  in  a  firm  voice,  he  told  of  the 
disaster  which  had  befallen  the  cotton-mills  and  the 
steamer. 

As  David  spoke,  Ka'id's  face  grew  darker,  his  fingers 
fumbled  vaguely  with  the  linen  of  the  loose  white  robe  he 
wore.  When  the  tale  was  finished  he  sat  for  a  moment 
apparently  stunned  by  the  news,  then  he  burst  out 
fiercely: 

"Bismillah,  am  I  to  hear  only  black  words  to-day? 
Hast  thou  naught  to  say  but  this — the  fortune  of  Egypt 
burned  to  ashes!" 

David  held  back  the  quick  retort  that  came  to  his 
tongue. 

"Half  my  fortune  is  in  the  ashes,"  he  answered  with 
dignity.  "The  rest  came  from  savings  never  made  be- 
fore by  this  government.  Is  the  work  less  worthy  in 
thy  sight,  Effendina,  because  it  has  been  destroyed? 
Would  thy  life  be  less  great  and  useful  because  a  blow 
took  thee  from  behind?" 

Ka'id's  face  turned  black.  David  had  bruised  an  open 
wound. 

'What  is  my  life  to  thee — what  is  thy  work  to  me?" 

"Thy  life  is  dear  to  Egypt,  Effendina,"  urged  David 
soothingly,  "and  my  labor  for  Egypt  has  been  pleasant 
in  thine  eyes  till  now." 

"Egypt  cannot  be  saved  against  her  will,"  was  the 
moody  response.  "What  has  come  of  the  Western 
hand  upon  the  Eastern  plough  ? "  His  face  grew  blacker ; 
his  heart  was  feeding  on  itself. 

'  Thou,  the  friend  of  Egypt,  hast  come  of  it,  Effendina." 

"Harrik  was  right,  Harrik  was  right,"  Ka'id  answered, 
with  stubborn  gloom  and  anger.  "Better  to  die  in  our 
own  way,  if  we  must  die,  than  live  in  the  way  of  another. 
Thou  wouldst  make  of  Egypt  another  England;  thou 
wouldst  civilize  the  Soudan — bismillah,  it  is  folly!" 
'That    is   not   the    way    Mchcmct    Ali   thought,    nor 

361 


THE    WEAVERS 

Ibrahim.  Nor  dost  thou  think  so,  Effendina,"  David 
answered  gravely.  "A  dark  spirit  is  on  thee.  Wouldst 
thou  have  me  understand  that  what  we  have  done  to- 
gether, thou  and  I,  was  ill  done,  that  the  old  bad  days 
were  better?" 

"Go  back  to  thine  own  land,"  was  the  surly  answer. 
"Nation  after  nation  ravaged  Egypt,  sowed  their  legions 
here,  but  the  Egyptian  has  lived  them  down.  The  faces 
of  the  fellaheen  are  the  faces  of  Thothmes  and  Seti.  Go 
back.  Egypt  will  travel  her  own  path.  We  are  of  the 
East;  we  are  Muslim.  What  is  right  to  you  is  wrong  to 
us.  Ye  would  make  us  over — give  us  cotton  beds  and 
wooden  floors  and  fine  flour  of  the  mill,  and  cleanse  the 
cholera-hut  with  disinfectants,  but  are  these  things  all? 
How  many  of  your  civilized  millions  would  die  for  their 
prophet  Christ?  Yet  all  Egypt  would  rise  up  from  the 
mud  floor,  the  dourha-field  and  the  mud  hut,  and  would 
come  out  to  die  for  Mahomet  and  Allah — ay,  as  Harrik 
knew,  as  Harrik  knew!  Ye  steal  into  corners,  and  hide 
behind  the  curtains  of  your  beds  to  pray ;  we  pray  where 
the  hour  of  prayer  finds  us — in  the  street,  in  the  market- 
place, where  the  house  is  building,  the  horse  being  shod, 
or  the  money-changers  are.  Ye  hear  the  call  of  civiliza- 
tion, but  we  hear  the  Muezzin — " 

He  stopped,  and  searched  mechanically  for  his  watch. 

"It  is  the  hour  the  Muezzin  calls,"  said  David  gently. 
"  It  is  almost  sunset.  Shall  I  open  the  windows  that  the 
call  may  come  to  us?"  he  added. 

While  Kaid  stared  at  him,  his  breast  heaving  with 
passion,  David  went  to  a  window  and  opened  the  shut- 
ters wide. 

The  Palace  faced  the  Nile,  which  showed  like  a  tor- 
tuous band  of  blue  and  silver  a  mile  or  so  away.  Nothing 
lay  between  but  the  brown  sand,  and  here  and  there  a 
handful  of  dark  figures  gliding  towards  the  river,  or  a 
little  train  of  camels  making  for  the  bare  gray  hills  from 

^62 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  ghiassas  which  had  given  them  their  desert  loads. 
The  course  of  the  Nile  was  marked  by  a  wide  fringe  of 
palms  showing  blue  and  purple,  friendly  and  ancient  and 
solitary.  Beyond  the  river  and  the  palms  lay  the  gray- 
brown  desert,  faintly  touched  with  red.  So  clear  was 
the  sweet  evening  air  that  the  irregular  surface  of  the 
desert  showed  for  a  score  of  miles  as  plainly  as  though 
it  were  but  a  step  away.  Hummocks  of  sand — tombs 
and  fallen  monuments — gave  a  feeling  as  of  forgotten 
and  buried  peoples;  and  the  two  vast  pyramids  of  Sak- 
karah  stood  up  in  the  plaintive  glow  of  the  evening  skies, 
majestic  and  solemn,  faithful  to  the  dissolved  and  ab- 
sorbed races  who  had  built  them.  Curtains  of  mauve 
and  saffron-red  were  hung  behind  them,  and  through  a 
break  of  cloud  fringing  the  horizon  a  yellow  glow  poured, 
to  touch  the  tips  of  the  pyramids  with  poignant  splen- 
dor. But  farther  over  to  the  right,  where  Cairo  lay, 
there  hung  a  bluish  mist,  palpable  and  delicate,  out  of 
which  emerged  the  vast  pyramids  of  Cheops ;  and  beside 
it  the  smiling,  inscrutable  Sphinx  faced  the  changeless 
centuries.  Beyond  the  pyramids  the  mist  deepened  into 
a  vast,  deep  cloud  of  blue  and  purple  which  seemed  the 
end  to  some  mystic  highway  untravelled  by  the  sons  of 
men. 

Suddenly  there  swept  over  David  a  wave  of  feeling 
such  as  had  passed  over  Kaid,  though  of  a  different 
nature.  Those  who  had  built  the  pyramids  were  gone, 
Cheops  and  Thothmes  and  Amenhotep  and  Chefron  and 
the  rest.  There  had  been  reformers  in  those  lost  races; 
one  age  had  sought  to  better  the  last,  one  man  had  toiled 
to  save; — yet  there  only  remained  offensive  bundles  of 
mummied  flesh  and  bone  and  a  handful  of  relics  in  tombs 
fifty  centuries  old.  Was  it  all,  then,  futile?  Did  it 
matter,  then,  whether  one  man  labored  or  a  race  aspired  ? 

Only  for  a  moment  these  thoughts  passed  through  his 
mind;  and  then,  as  the  glow  through  the  broken  cloud 

3^>3 


THE    WEAVERS 

on  the  opposite  horizon  suddenly  faded,  and  veils 
of  melancholy  fell  over  the  desert  and  the  river  and 
the  palms,  there  rose  a  call,  sweetly  shrill,  undoubt- 
ingly  insistent.  Sunset  had  come,  and,  with  it,  the 
Muezzin's  call  to  prayer  from  the  minaret  of  a  mosque 
hard  by. 

David  was  conscious  of  a  movement  behind  him — 
that  Kaid  was  praying  with  hands  uplifted;  and  out  on 
the  sands  between  the  window  and  the  river  he  saw 
kneeling  figures  here  and  there,  saw  the  camel-drivers 
halt  their  trains,  and  face  the  East  with  hands  uplifted. 
The  call  went  on — "La  ildha  illa-lldh!" 

It  called  David,  too.  The  force  and  searching  energy 
and  fire  in  it  stole  through  his  veins,  and  drove  from 
him  the  sense  of  futility  and  despondency  which  had  so 
deeply  added  to  his  trouble.  There  was  something  for 
him,  too,  in  that  which  held  infatuated  the  minds  of  so 
many  millions. 

A  moment  later  Kaid  and  he  faced  each  other  again. 

"Effendina,"  he  said,  "thou  wilt  not  desert  our  work 
now!" 

"Money — for  this  expedition?  Thou  hast  it?"  Kaid 
asked  ironically. 

"I  have  but  little  money,  and  it  must  go  to  rebuild 
the  mills,  Effendina.     I  must  have  it  of  thee." 

"Let  them  remain  in  their  ashes." 

"But  thousands  will  have  no  work." 

"  They  had  work  before  they  were  built,  they  will  have 
work  now  they  are  gone." 

"Effendina,  I  stayed  in  Egypt  at  thy  request.  The 
work  is  thy  work.     Wilt  thou  desert  it?" 

"The  West  lured  me — by  things  that  seemed.  Now 
I  know  things  as  they  are." 

"They  will  lure  thee  again  to-morrow,"  said  David 
firmly,  but  with  a  weight  on  his  spirit.  His  eyes  sought 
and  held  Kaid's.     "It  is  too  late  to  go  back;  we  must 

364 


THE    WEAVERS 

go  forward,  or  we  shall  lose  the  Soudan,  and  a  Mahdi 
and  his  men  will  be  in  Cairo  in  ten  years." 

For  an  instant  Kaid  was  startled.  The  old  look  of 
energy  and  purpose  leaped  up  into  his  eye;  but  it  faded 
quickly  again.  If,  as  the  Italian  physician  more  than 
hinted,  his  life  hung  by  a  thread,  did  it  matter  whether 
the  barbarian  came  to  Cairo  ?  That  was  the  business  of 
those  who  came  after.  If  Sharif  was  right,  and  his  life 
was  saved,  there  would  be  time  enough  to  set  things 
right. 

"  I  will  not  pour  water  on  the  sands  to  make  an  ocean," 
he  answered.  "Will  a  ship  sail  on  the  Sahara?  Bis- 
millah,  it  is  all  a  dream!  Harrik  was  right.  But  dost 
thou  think  to  do  with  me  as  thou  didst  with  Harrik?" 
he  sneered.     "Is  it  in  thy  mind?" 

David's  patience  broke  down  under  the  long  provoca- 
tion. "Know  then,  Effendina,"  he  said  angrily,  "that 
I  am  not  thy  subject,  nor  one  beholden  to  thee,  nor  thy 
slave.  Upon  terms  well  understood,  I  have  labored 
here.  I  have  kept  my  obligations,  and  it  is  thy  duty  to 
keep  thy  obligations,  though  the  hand  of  death  were  on 
thee.  I  know  not  what  has  poisoned  thy  mind,  and 
driven  thee  from  reason  and  from  justice.  I  know  that, 
Prince  Pasha  of  Egypt  as  thou  art,  thou  art  as  bound  to 
me  as  any  fellah  that  agrees  to  tend  my  door  or  row  my 
boat.  Thy  compact  with  me  is  a  compact  with  England, 
and  it  shall  be  kept,  if  thou  art  an  honest  man.  Thou 
mayst  find  thousands  in  Egypt  who  will  serve  thee  at 
any  price,  and  bear  thee  in  any  mood.  I  have  but  one 
price.  It  is  well  known  to  thee.  I  will  not  be  the  target 
for  thy  black  temper.  This  is  not  the  middle  ages;  I 
am  an  Englishman,  not  a  helot.  The  bond  must  be 
kept;  thou  shalt  not  play  fast  and  loose.  Money  must 
be  found;  the  expedition  must  go.  But  if  thy  purpose 
is  now  TTarrik's  purpose,  then  Europe  should  know,  and 
Egypt  also  should  know.     I  have  been  thy  right  hand, 

365 


THE    WEAVERS 

Effendina;  I  will  not  be  thy  old  shoe,  to  be  cast  aside  at 
thy  will." 

In  all  the  days  of  his  life,  David  had  never  flamed  out 
as  he  did  now.  Passionate  as  his  words  were,  his  man- 
ner was  strangely  quiet,  but  his  white  and  glistening  face 
and  his  burning  eyes  showed  how  deep  was  his  anger. 

As  he  spoke,  Kaid  sank  upon  the  divan.  Never  had 
he  been  challenged  so.  With  his  own  people  he  had  ever 
been  used  to  cringing  and  abasement,  and  he  had  played 
the  tyrant,  and  struck  hard  and  cruelly,  and  he  had  been 
feared;  but  here,  behind  David's  courteous  attitude, 
there  was  a  scathing  arraignment  of  his  conduct  which 
took  no  count  of  consequence.  In  other  circumstances 
his  vanity  would  have  shrunk  under  this  whip  of  words, 
but  his  native  reason  and  his  quick  humor  would  have 
justified  David.  In  this  black  distemper  possessing  him, 
however,  only  outraged  egotism  prevailed.  His  hands 
clenched  and  unclenched,  his  lips  were  drawn  back  on 
his  teeth  in  rage. 

When  David  had  finished,  Kaid  suddenly  got  to  his 
feet  and  took  a  step  forward  with  a  malediction,  but  a 
faintness  seized  him  and  he  staggered  back.  When  he 
raised  his  head  again  David  was  gone. 


XXX 

LACEY   MOVES 

If  there  was  one  glistening  bead  of  sweat  on  the  bald 
pate  of  Lacey  of  Chicago  there  were  a  thousand ;  and  the 
smile  on  his  face  was  not  less  shining  and  unlimited. 
He  burst  into  the  rooms  of  the  palace  where  David  had 
residence,  calling,  "Oyez!  Oyez!  Saadat!  Oh,  Pasha 
of  the  Thousand  Tails!     Oyez!     Oyez!" 

Getting  no  answer,  he  began  to  perform  a  dance  round 
the  room,  which  in  modern  days  is  known  as  the  negro 
cake-walk.  It  was  not  dignified,  but  it  would  have  been 
less  dignified  still  performed  by  any  other  living  man  of 
forty-five  with  a  bald  head  and  a  waistband  ten  inches 
too  large.  Round  the  room  three  times  he  went,  and 
then  he  dropped  on  a  divan.  He  gasped,  and  mopped  his 
face  and  forehead,  leaving  a  little  island  of  moisture  on  the 
top  of  his  head  untouched.  After  a  moment,  he  gained 
breath  and  settled  down  a  little.     Then  he  burst  out: 

"Are  you  coming  to  my  party,  O  effendi? 

There'll  be  high  jinks,  there'll  be  welcome,  there'll  be  room; 
For  to-morrow  we  are  pulling  stakes  for  Shendy. 
Are  you  coming  to  my  party,  O  Nahoum? 

"Say,  I  guess  that's  pretty  good  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,"  he  wheezed,  and,  taking  his  inseparable  note- 
book from  his  pocket,  wrote  the  impromptu  down.  "I 
guess  She'll  like  that — it  rings  spontaneous.  She'll  be 
tickled,  tickled  to  death,  when  she  knowc".  what's  behind 
it."      He  repeated  it  with  gusto.     "She'll  dote  on  it," 

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THE    WEAVERS 

he  added — the  person  to  whom  he  referred  being  the 
sister  of  the  American  Consul,  the  little  widow,  "cute  as 
she  can  be,"  of  whom  he  had  written  to  Hylda  in  the 
letter  which  had  brought  a  crisis  in  her  life.  As  he  re- 
turned the  note-book  to  his  pocket  a  door  opened.  Ma- 
hommed  Hassan  slid  forward  into  the  room,  and  stood 
still,  impassive  and  gloomy.  Lacey  beckoned,  and  said 
grotesquely : 

'"Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  daughter, 
And  do  not  tremble  so'.'.'I 

A  sort  of  scornful  patience  was  in  Mahommed's  look, 
but  he  came  nearer  and  waited. 

"Squat  on  the  ground,  and  smile  a  smile  of  mirth, 
Mahommed,"  Lacey  said  riotously.  '"For  I'm  to  be 
Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May! ' ! 

Mahommed's  face  grew  resentful.  "0  effendi,  shall 
the  camel-driver  laugh  when  the  camels  are  lost  in  the 
khamsin  and  the  water-bottle  is  empty?" 

"Certainly  not,  O  son  of  the  spreading  palm;  but  this 
is  not  a  desert,  nor  a  gaudy  caravan.  This  is  a  feast  of 
all  angels.  This  is  the  day  when  Nahoum  the  Nefarious 
is  to  be  buckled  up  like  a  belt,  and  ridden  in  a  ring. 
Where  is  the  Saadat?" 

"He  is  gone,  effendi!  Like  a  mist  on  the  face  of  the 
running  water,  so  was  his  face;  like  eyes  that  did  not 
see,  so  was  his  look.  'Peace  be  to  thee,  Mahommed, 
thou  art  faithful  as  Zaida,'  he  said,  and  he  mounted  and 
rode  into  the  desert.  I  ran  after  till  he  was  come  to  the 
edge  of  the  desert;  but  he  sent  me  back,  saying  that  I 
must  wait  for  thee;  and  this  word  I  was  to  say,  that 
Prince  Kaid  had  turned  his  face  darkly  from  him,  and 
that  the  finger  of  Sharif — " 

"That  fanatical  old  quack — Harrik's  friend!" 

" — that  the  finger  of  Sharif  was  on  his  pulse.  But 
the  end  of  all  was  in  the  hands  of  God." 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"Oh  yes,  exactly,  the  finger  of  Sharif  on  his  pulse! 
The  old  story — the  return  to  the  mother's  milk,  throwing 
back  to  all  the  Pharaohs.  Well,  what  then?"  he  added 
cheerfully,  his  smile  breaking  out  again.  "Where  has 
he  gone,  our  Saadat?" 

"To  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  at  the  Coptic  Monastery  by  the 
Etl  Tree,  where  your  prophet  Christ  slept  when  a  child." 

Lacey  hummed  to  himself  meditatively.  "A  sort  of 
last  powwow — Rome  before  the  fall.  Everything  wrong, 
eh?  Ka'id  turned  fanatic,  Nahoum  on  the  tiles  watching 
for  the  Saadat  to  fall,  things  trembling  for  want  of  hard 
cash.     That's  it,  isn't  it,  Mahommed?" 

Mahommed  nodded,  but  his  look  was  now  alert,  and 
less  sombre.  He  had  caught  at  something  vital  and 
confident  in  Lacey's  tone.  He  drew  nearer,  and  listened 
closely. 

"Well,  now,  my  gentle  gazelle,  listen  unto  me,"  con- 
tinued Laccy.  He  suddenly  leaned  forward,  and  spoke 
in  subdued  but  rapid  tones.  "Say,  Mahommed,  once 
upon  a  time  there  was  an  American  man,  with  a  shock 
of  red  hair,  and  a  nature  like  a  spring-lock.  He  went 
down  to  Mexico,  with  a  million  or  two  of  his  own  money 
got  honestly  by  an  undisputed  will  from  an  undisputed 
father — you  don't  understand  that,  but  it  doesn't  matter 
— and  with  a  few  millions  of  other  people's  money,  for 
to  gamble  in  mines  and  railways  and  banks  and  steam- 
ship companies — all  to  do  with  Mexico  what  the  Saadat 
has  tried  to  do  in  Egypt  with  less  money;  but  not  for 
the  love  of  Allah,  same  as  him.  This  American  was 
going  to  conquer  like  Cortez,  but  his  name  was  Thomas 
Tilman  Lacey,  and  he  had  a  lot  of  gall.  After  years  of 
earnest  effort,  he  lost  his  hair  and  the  millions  of  the 
Infatuated  Conquistadores.  And  by  and  by  he  came  to 
Cairo  with  a  thimbleful  of  income,  and  began  to  live 
again.  There  was  a  civil  war  going  on  in  his  own  coun- 
try, but  he  thought  that  one  out  of  forty  millions  would 

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THE    WEAVERS 

not  be  strictly  missed.  So  he  stayed  in  Egypt;  and  the 
tale  of  his  days  in  Egypt,  is  it  not  written  with  a  neboot 
of  dom-wood  in  the  book  of  Mahommed  Hassan  the 
scribe?" 

He  paused  and  beamed  upon  the  watchful  Mahom- 
med, who,  if  he  did  not  understand  all  that  had  been  said, 
was  in  no  difficulty  as  to  the  drift  and  meaning  of  the 
story. 

"Aiwa,  effendi,"  he  urged  impatiently.  "It  is  a  long 
ride  to  the  Etl  Tree,  and  the  day  is  far  spent! " 

"Inshallah,  you  shall  hear,  my  turtle-dove!  One 
day  there  came  to  Cairo,  in  great  haste,  a  man  from 
Mexico,  looking  for  the  foolish  one  called  T.  T.  Lacey, 
bearing  glad  news.  And  the  man  from  Mexico  blew  his 
trumpet,  and  straightway  T.  T.  Lacey  fell  down  dis- 
mayed. The  trumpet  said  that  a  million  once  lost  in 
Mexico  was  returned,  with  a  small  flock  of  other  millions; 
for  a  mine,  in  which  it  was  sunk,  had  burst  forth  with  a 
stony  stream  of  silver.  And  behold!  Thomas  Tilman 
Lacey,  the  despised  waster  of  his  patrimony  and  of  other 
people's  treasure,  is  now,  O  son  of  the  fig-flower,  richer 
than  Kaid  Pasha  and  all  his  eunuchs!" 

Suddenly  Mahommed  Hassan  leaned  forward,  then 
backward,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  desert  folk,  gave  a 
shrill,  sweet  ululation  that  seemed  to  fill  the  palace. 

"Say,  that's  Ai,"  Lacey  said,  when  Mahommed's 
voice  sank  to  a  whisper  of  wild  harmony.  "Yes,  you 
can  lick  my  boots,  my  noble  sheikh  of  Manfaloot,"  he 
added,  as  Mahommed  caught  his  feet  and  bent  his  head 
upon  them.  "I  wanted  to  do  something  like  that  my- 
self.    Kiss  'em,  honey;   it'll  do  you  good." 

After  a  moment,  Mahommed  drew  back  and  squatted 
before  him  in  an  attitude  of  peace  and  satisfaction.  "The 
Saadat — you  will  help  him  ?     You  will  give  him  money  ? " 

"Let's  put  it  in  this  way,  Mahommed:  I'll  invest  in 
an  expedition  out  of  which  I  expect  to  get  something 

37o 


THE    WEAVERS 

■ 

worth  while — concessions  for  mines  and  railways,  et 
cetera."  He  winked  a  round,  blue  eye.  "Business  is 
business,  and  the  way  to  get  at  the  Saadat  is  to  talk 
business ;  but  you  can  make  up  your  mind  that — 

'  To-morrow  we  are  pulling  stakes  for  Shendy ! 
Are  you  coming  to  my  party,  0  Nahoum?' 

"By  the  prophet  Abraham,  but  the  news  is  great  news," 
said  Mahommed  with  a  grin.     "But  the  Effendina?" 

"Well,  I'll  try  and  square  the  Effendina,"  answered 
Lacey.  "Perhaps  the  days  of  backsheesh  aren't  done 
in  Egypt,  after  all." 

"And  Nahoum  Pasha?"  asked  Mahommed,  with  a 
sinister  look. 

"Well,  we'll  try  and  square  him,  too,  but  in  another 
way." 

"The  money,  it  is  in  Egypt?"  queried  Mahommed, 
whose  idea  was  that  money  to  be  real  must  be  seen. 

"Something  that's  as  handy  and  as  marketable," 
answered  Lacey.  "  I  can  raise  half  a  million  to-morrow; 
and  that  will  do  a  lot  of  what  we  want.  How  long  will 
it  take  to  ride  to  the  monastery?" 

Mahommed  told  him. 

Lacey  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  he  heard  a 
voice  outside.  "  Nahoum!  "  he  said,  and  sat  down  again 
on  the  divan.  "  He  has  come  to  see  the  Saadat,  I  sup- 
pose; but  it'll  do  him  good  to  see  me,  perhaps.  Open 
the  sluices,  Mahommed." 

Yes,  Nahoum  would  be  glad  to  see  the  effendi,  since 
Claridge  Pasha  was  not  in  Cairo.  When  would  Claridge 
Pasha  return?  If,  then,  the  effendi  expected  to  see 
the  Saadat  before  his  return  to  Cairo,  perhaps  he  would 
convey  a  message.  He  could  not  urge  his  presence  on 
the  Saadat,  since  he  had  not  been  honored  with  any 
communication  since  yesterday. 

37i 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Well,  that's  good-mannered,  anyhow,  pasha,"  said 
Lacey,  with  cheerful  nonchalance.  "People  don't  al- 
ways know  when  they're  wanted  or  not  wanted." 

Nahoum  looked  at  him  guardedly,  sighed  and  sat 
down.  'Things  have  grown  worse  since  yesterday,"  he 
said.  "Prince  Kaid  received  the  news  badly."  He 
shook  his  head.  "He  has  not  the  gift  of  perfect  friend- 
ship. That  is  a  Christian  characteristic;  the  Muslim 
does  not  possess  it.  It  was  too  strong  to  last,  maybe — 
my  poor  beloved  friend,  the  Saadat." 

"Oh,  it  will  last  all  right,"  rejoined  Lacey  coolly. 
"Prince  Kaid  has  got  a  touch  of  jaundice,  I  guess.  He 
knows  a  thing  when  he  finds  it,  even  if  he  hasn't  the 
gift  of  'perfect  friendship,'  same  as  Christians  like  you 
and  me.  But  even  you  and  me  don't  push  our  perfec- 
tions too  far — I  haven't  noticed  you  going  out  of  your 
way  to  do  things  for  your  'poor  beloved  friend,  the 
Saadat'!1' 

"I  have  given  him  time,  energy,  experience — money." 

Lacey  nodded.  "True.  And  I've  often  wondered 
why,  when  I've  seen  the  things  you  didn't  give,  and  the 
things  you  took  away." 

Nahoum's  eyes  half  closed.  Lacey  was  getting  to 
close  quarters  with  suspicion  and  allusion;  but  it  was 
not  his  cue  to  resent  them  yet. 

"I  had  come  now  to  offer  him  help;  to  advance  him 
enough  to  carry  through  his  expedition." 

'Well,  that  sounds  generous,  but  I  guess  he  would  get 
on  without  it,  pasha.  He  would  not  want  to  be  under 
any  more  obligations  to  you." 

"He  is  without  money.     He  must  be  helped." 

"Just  so." 

"He  cannot  go  to  the  treasury,  and  Prince  Kaid  has 
refused.     Why  should  he  decline  help  from  his  friend?" 

Suddenly  Lacey  changed  his  tactics.  He  had  caught 
a  look  in  Nahoum's  eyes  which  gave  him  a  new  thought. 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"Well,  if  you've  any  proposition,  pasha,  I'll  take  it  to 
him.     I'll  be  seeing  him  to-night." 

"I  can  give  him  fifty  thousand  pounds." 

"It  isn't  enough  to  save  the  situation,  pasha." 

"It  will  help  him  over  the  first  zareba." 

"Are  there  any  conditions?" 

"There  are  no  conditions,  effendi." 

"And  interest?" 

"There  would  be  no  interest  in  money." 

"Other  considerations?" 

"Yes,  other  considerations,  effendi." 

"If  they  were  granted,  would  there  be  enough  still  in 
the  stocking  to  help  him  over  a  second  zareba— or  a 
third,  perhaps?" 

'That  would  be  possible,  even  likely,  I  think.  Of 
course  we  speak  in  confidence,  effendi." 

'The  confidence  of  the  'perfect  friendship.'  " 

'There  may  be  difficulty,  because  the  Saadat  is 
sensitive;  but  it  is  the  only  way  to  help  him.  I  can  get 
the  money  from  but  one  source ;  and  to  get  it  involves  an 
agreement." 

'You  think  his  Excellency  would  not  just  jump  at  it 
— that  it  might  hurt  some  of  his  prejudices,  eh?" 

"So,  effendi." 

"And  me — where  am  I  in  it,  pasha?" 

'Thou  hast  great  influence  with  his  Excellency." 

"  I  am  his  servant — I  don't  meddle  with  his  prejudices, 
pasha." 

"But  if  it  were  for  his  own  good,  to  save  his  work 
here." 

Lacey  yawned  almost  ostentatiously.  "I  guess  if  he 
can't  save  it  himself,  it  can't  be  saved,  not  even  when 
you  reach  out  the  hand  of  perfect  friendship.  You've 
been  reaching  out  for  a  long  time,  pasha,  and  it  didn't 
save  the  steamer  or  the  cotton-mills;  and  it  didn't  save 
us  when  we  were  down  by  Sobat  a  while  ago,  and  you 

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THE    WEAVERS 

sent  Halim  Bey  to  teach  us  to  be  patient.  We  got  out 
of  that  nasty  corner  by  sleight  of  hand,  but  not  your 
sleight  of  hand,  pasha.  Your  hand  is  a  quick  hand,  but 
a  sharp  eye  can  see  the  trick,  and  then  it's  no  good,  not 
worth  a  button. " 

There  was  something  savage  behind  Nahoum's  eyes, 
but  they  did  not  show  it ;  they  blinked  with  earnest  kind- 
ness and  interest.  The  time  would  come  when  Lacey 
would  go  as  his  master  should  go,  and  the  occasion  was 
not  far  off  now;  but  it  must  not  be  forced.  Besides,  was 
this  fat,  amorous-looking  factotum  of  Claridge  Pasha's 
as  Spartan-minded  as  his  master?  Would  he  be  superior 
to  the  lure  of  gold  ?  He  would  see.  He  spoke  seriously, 
with  apparent  solicitude. 

"Thou  dost  not  understand,  effendi.  Claridge  Pasha 
must  have  money.  Prestige  is  everything  in  Egypt,  it 
is  everything  with  Ka'fd.  If  Claridge  Pasha  rides  on  as 
though  nothing  has  happened, — and  money  is  the  only 
horse  that  can  carry  him — Ka'id  will  not  interfere,  and 
his  black  mood  may  pass;  but  any  halting  now,  and  the 
game  is  done." 

"And  you  want  the  game  to  go  on  right  bad,  don't 
you?  Well,  I  guess  you're  right.  Money  is  the  only 
winner  in  this  race.  He's  got  to  have  money,  sure. 
How  much  can  you  raise?  Oh  yes,  you  told  me!  Well, 
I  don't  think  it's  enough;  he's  got  to  have  three  times 
that;  and  if  he  can't  get  it  from  the  government,  or  from 
Kaid,  it's  a  bad  look-out.  What's  the  bargain  you  have 
in  your  mind  ? ' ' 

"That  the  slave-trade  continue,  effendi." 

Lacey  did  not  wink,  but  he  had  a  shock  of  surprise.  On 
the  instant  he  saw  the  trap — for  the  Saadat  and  for  himself. 

"He  would  not  do  it— not  for  money,  pasha." 

"He  would  not  be  doing  it  for  money.  The  time  is 
not  ripe  for  it;  it  is  too  dangerous.  There  is  a  time  for 
all  things.     If  he  will  but  wait!" 

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THE    WEAVERS 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  be  the  man  that'd  name  the  thing 
to  him.  As  you  say,  he's  got  his  prejudices.  They're 
stronger  than  in  most  men." 

"It  need  not  be  named  to  him.  Thou  canst  accept 
the  money  for  him,  and  when  thou  art  in  the  Soudan, 
and  he  is  going  to  do  it,  thou  canst  prevent  it." 

"Tell  him  that  I've  taken  the  money  and  that  he's 
used  it,  and  he  oughtn't  to  go  back  on  the  bargain  I 
made  for  him?     So  that  he'll  be  bound  by  what  I  did?" 

"It  is  the  best  way,  effendi." 

"He'd  be  annoyed,"  said  Lacey  with  a  patient  sigh. 

"He  has  a  great  soul;  but  sometimes  he  forgets  that 
expediency  is  the  true  policy. " 

"Yet  he's  done  a  lot  of  things  without  it.  He's  never 
failed  in  what  he  set  out  to  do.  What  he's  done  has 
been  kicked  over,  but  he's  done  it  all  right,  somehow, 
at  last." 

"He  will  not  be  able  to  do  this,  effendi,  except  with 
my  help — and  thine." 

"He's  had  quite  a  lot  of  things  almost  finished,  too," 
said  Lacey  reflectively,  "and  then  a  hand  reached  out 
in  the  dark  and  cut  the  wires — cut  them  when  he  was 
sleeping,  and  he  didn't  know;  cut  them  when  he  was 
waking,  and  he  wouldn't  understand;  cut  them  under 
his  own  eyes,  and  he  wouldn't  see;  because  the  hand 
that  cut  them  was  the  hand  of  the  perfect  friend." 

He  got  slowly  to  his  feet,  as  a  cloud  of  color  drew  over 
the  face  of  Nahoum  and  his  eyes  darkened  with  aston- 
ishment and  anger.  Lacey  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  waited  till  Nahoum  also  rose.  Then  he  gathered 
the  other's  eyes  to  his,  and  said  with  drawling  scorn: 

"So,  you  thought  I  didn't  understand!     You  thought 

J''l  got  a  brain  like  a  peanut,  and  wouldn't  drop  onto  to 

your  game  or  the  trap  you've  set!     You'd  advance  money 

—got  from  the  slave-dealers  to  prevent  the  slave-trade 

being  stopped!     If  Claridge  Pasha  took  it  and  used  it, 

25  375 


THE    WEAVERS 

he  could  never  stop  the  slave-trade.  If  I  took  it  and 
used  it  for  him  on  the  same  terms,  he  couldn't  stop  the 
slave-trade,  though  he  might  know  no  more  about  the 
bargain  than  a  babe  unborn.  And  if  he  didn't  stand  by 
the  bargain  I  made,  and  did  prohibit  slave-dealing, 
nothing  'd  stop  the  tribes  till  they  marched  into  Cairo. 
He's  been  safe  so  far,  because  they  believed  in  him,  and 
because  he'd  rather  die  a  million  deaths  than  go  crooked. 
Say,  I've  been  among  the  Dagos  before — down  in  Mex- 
ico— and  I'm  onto  you.  I've  been  onto  you  for  a  good 
while;  though  there  was  nothing  I  could  spot  certain; 
but  now  I've  got  you,  and  I'll  break  the  'perfect  friend- 
ship' or  I'll  cat  my  shirt!     I'll — ■" 

He  paused,  realizing  the  crisis  in  which  David  was 
moving,  and  that  perils  were  thick  around  their  foot- 
steps. But,  even  as  he  thought  of  them,  he  remembered 
David's  own  frank,  fearless  audacity  in  danger  and  diffi- 
culty, and  he  threw  discretion  to  the  winds.  He  flung 
his  flag  wide,  and  believed  with  a  belief  as  daring  as 
David's  that  all  would  be  well. 

"Well,  what  wilt  thou  do?"  asked  Nahoum  with 
cool  and  deadly  menace.  'Thou  wilt  need  to  do  it 
quickly,  because,  if  it  is  a  challenge,  within  forty-eight 
hours  Claridge  Pasha  and  thyself  will  be  gone  from 
Egypt — or  I  shall  be  in  the  Nile!" 

"I'll  take  my  chances,  pasha,"  answered  Lacey,  with 
equal  coolness.  '  You  think  you'll  win.  It's  not  the  first 
time  I've  had  to  tackle  men  like  you — they've  got  the 
breed  in  Mexico.  They  beat  me  there,  but  I  learned 
the  game,  and  I've  learned  a  lot  from  you,  too.  I  never 
knew  what  your  game  was  here.  I  only  know  that  the 
Saadat  saved  your  life,  and  got  you  started  again  with 
Kaid.  I  only  know  that  you  called  yourself  a  Christian, 
and  worked  on  him  till  he  believed  in  you,  and  Hell 
might  crackle  round  you,  but  he'd  believe,  till  he  saw 
your  contract  signed  with  the  Devil — and  then  he'd  think 

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THE    WEAVERS 

the  signature  forged.  But  he's  got  to  know  now.  We 
are  not  going  out  of  Egypt,  though  you  may  be  going  to 
the  Nile;  but  we  are  going  to  the  Soudan,  and  with 
Kaid's  blessing,  too.  You've  put  up  the  bluff,  and  I 
take  it.  Be  sure  you've  got  Kaid  solid,  for,  if  you 
haven't,  he'll  be  glad  to  know  where  you  keep  the  money 
you  got  from  the  slave-dealers." 

Nahoum  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Who  has  seen  the 
money?  Where  is  the  proof?  Kaid  would  know  my 
reasons.  It  is  not  the  first  time  virtue  has  been  tested 
in  Egypt,  or  the  first  time  that  it  has  fallen." 

In    spite    of    himself    Lacey    laughed.     "Say,    that's 
worthy  of  a  great  Christian  intellect.     You  are  a  bright 
particular   star,  pasha.     I    take    it  back — they'd   learn 
a  lot  from  you  in  Mexico.     But  the  only  trouble  with 
lying  is,  that  the  demand  becomes  so  great  you  can't  keep 
all  the  cards  in  your  head,  and  then  the  one  you  forget 
does  you.     The  man  that  isn't  lying  has  the  pull  in  the 
long  run.     You  are  out  against  us,  pasha,  and  we'll  see 
how   we   stand   in   forty-eight   hours.     You  have   some 
cards  up  your  sleeve,  I  suppose;  but — well,  I'm  taking 
you  on.     I'm  taking  you  on  with  a  lot  of  joy,  and  some 
sorrow,  too,  for  we  might  have  pulled  off  a  big  thing 
together,  you  and  Claridge  Pasha,  with  me  to  hold  the 
stirrups.     Now  it's  got  to  be  war.      You've  made  it  so. 
It's  a  pity,  for  when  we  grip  there'll  be  a  heavy  fall." 
"For  a  poor  man  thou  hast  a  proud  stomach." 
'Well,   I'll   admit  the  stomach,   pasha.     It's    proud; 
and  it's  strong,  too;  it's  stood  a  lot  in  Egypt;  it's  stand- 
ing a  lot  to-day." 

'We'll  ease  the  strain,  perhaps,"  sneered  Nahoum. 
He  made  a  perfunctory  salutation  and  walked  briskly 
from  the  room. 

Mahommcd  Hassan  crept  in,  a  malicious  grin  on  his 
face.  Danger  and  conflict  were  as  meat  and  drink  to 
him. 

377 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Effendi,  God  hath  given  thee  a  wasp's  sting  to  thy 
tongue.  It  is  well.  Nahoum  Pasha  hath  Mizraim;  the 
Saadat  hath  thee  and  me." 

"There's  the  Effendina,"  said  Lacey  reflectively. 

"Thou  saidst  thou  wouldst  'square'  him,  effendi." 

"I  say  a  lot,"  answered  Lacey  rather  ruefully.  "Come, 
Mahommed,  the  Saadat  first,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 


XXXI 

THE    STRUGGLE    IN    THE    DESERT 

"And  His  mercy  is  on  them  that  fear  Him  throughout  all  gen- 
erations.'" 

On  the  clear,  still  evening  air  the  words  rang  out  over 
the  desert,  sonorous,  imposing,  peaceful.  As  the  notes 
of  the  verse  died  away  the  answer  came  from  other  voices 
in  deep,  appealing  antiphonal: 

"He  hath  showed  strength  with  His  arm;  He  hath  scattered  the 
proud  in  the  imagination  of  their  hearts." 

Beyond  the  limits  of  the  monastery  there  was  not  a 
sign  of  life;  neither  beast  nor  bird,  nor  blade  of  grass,  nor 
any  green  thing;  only  the  perfect  immemorial  blue,  and 
in  the  East  a  misty  moon,  striving  in  vain  to  offer  light 
which  the  earth  as  yet  rejected  for  the  brooding  radi- 
ance of  the  descending  sun.  But  at  the  great  door  of 
the  monastery  there  grew  a  stately  palm,  and  near  by  an 
ancient  acacia-tree;  and  beyond  the  stone  chapel  there 
was  a  garden  of  struggling  shrubs  and  green  things,  with 
one  rose-tree  which  scattered  its  pink  leaves  from  year  to 
year  upon  the  loam,  since  no  man  gathered  bud  or  blos- 
som. 

The  triumphant  call  of  the  Magnificat,  however  beauti- 
ful, seemed  strangely  out  of  place  in  this  lonely  island  in 
a  sea  of  sand.  It  was  the  song  of  a  bannered  army, 
marching  over  the  battle-field  with  conquering  voices, 
and  swords  as  yet  unsheathed  and  red,  carrying  the  spoils 

379 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  conquest  behind  the  laurelled  captain  of  the  host. 
The  crumbling  and  ancient  walls  were  surrounded  by  a 
moat  which  a  stranger's  foot  crossed  hardly  from  moon  to 
moon,  which  the  desert  wayfarer  sought  rarely,  since  it 
was  out  of  the  track  of  caravans,  and  because  food  was 
scant  in  the  refectory  of  this  Coptic  brotherhood.  It  was 
scarce  five  hours'  ride  from  the  Palace  of  the  Prince  Pasha : 
but  it  might  have  been  a  thousand  miles  away,  so  pro- 
foundly separate  was  it  from  the  world  of  vital  things 
and  deeds  of  men. 

As  the  chant  rang  out,  confident,  majestic,  and  serene, 
carried  by  voices  of  power  and  shrill  sweetness,  which 
only  the  desert  can  produce,  it  might  have  seemed  to  any 
listener  that  this  monastery  was  all  that  remained  of  some 
ancient  kingdom  of  brimming,  active  cities,  now  lying 
beneath  the  obliterating  sand,  itself  the  monument  and 
memorial  of  a  breath  of  mercy  of  the  Destroyer,  the 
last  refuge  of  a  few  surviving  captains  of  a  departed 
greatness.  Hidden  by  the  gray,  massive  walls,  built  as 
it  were  to  resist  the  onset  of  a  ravaging  foe,  the  swelling 
voices  might  well  have  been  those  of  some  ancient  order 
of  valiant  knights,  whose  banners  hung  above  them, 
the  reclame  of  their  deeds.  But  they  were  voices  and 
voices  only;  for  they  who  sang  were  as  unkempt  and 
forceless  as  the  lonely  walls  which  shut  them  in  from  the 
insistent  soul  of  the  desert. 

Desolation?  The  desert  was  not  desolate.  Its  face 
was  bare  and  burning,  it  slaked  no  man's  thirst,  gave  no 
man  food,  save  where  scattered  oases  were  like  the  breasts 
of  a  vast  mother  eluding  the  aching  lips  of  her  parched 
children;  but  the  soul  of  the  desert  was  living  and  in- 
spiring, beating  with  vitality.  It  was  life  that  burned 
like  flame.  If  the  water-skin  was  dry  and  the  date-bag 
empty  it  smothered  and  destroyed;  but  it  was  life;  and 
to  those  who  ventured  into  its  embrace,  obeying  the 
conditions  of  the  sharp  adventure,  it  gave  what  neither 

380 


THE    WEAVERS 

sea,  nor  green  plain,  nor  high  mountain,  nor  verdant  val- 
ley could  give — a  consuming  sense  of  power,  which  found 
its  way  to  the  deepest  recesses  of  being.  Out  upon  the 
vast  sea  of  sand,  where  the  descending  sun  was  spreading 
a  note  of  incandescent  color,  there  floated  the  grateful 
words: 

"He  remembering  His  mercy  hath  holpen  His  servant  Israel; 
as  He  promised  to  our  forefathers,  Abraham,  and  his  seed  forever."^ 

Then  the  antiphonal  ceased;  and  together  the  voices 
of  all  within  the  place  swelled  out  in  the  Gloria  and  the 
Amen,  and  seemed  to  pass  away  in  ever-receding  vi- 
brations upon  the  desert,  till  it  was  lost  in  the  comforting 
sunset. 

As  the  last  note  died  away,  a  voice  from  beneath  the 
palm-tree  near  the  door,  deeper  than  any  that  had  come 
from  within,  said  reverently,  "  Ameen — Ameen!" 

He  who  spoke  was  a  man  well  over  sixty  years,  with  a 
gray  beard,  lofty,  benign  forehead,  and  the  eyes  of  a 
scholar  and  a  dreamer.  As  he  uttered  the  words  of 
spiritual  assent,  alike  to  the  Muslim  and  the  Christian 
religion,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  showing  the  figure  of  a  man 
of  action,  alert,  well-knit,  authoritative.  Presently  he 
turned  towards  the  East  and  stretched  a  robe  upon  the 
ground,  and  with  stately  beauty  of  gesture  he  spread  out 
his  hands,  standing  for  a  moment  in  the  attitude  of 
aspiration.  Then,  kneeling,  he  touched  his  turbaned 
head  to  the  ground  three  times,  and  as  the  sun  drew 
down  behind  the  sharp,  bright  line  of  sand  that  marked 
the  horizon  he  prayed  devoutly  and  long.  It  was  Ebn 
Ezra  Bey 

Muslim  though  he  was,  he  had  visited  this  monastery 
many  times,  to  study  the  ancient  Christian  books  which 
lay  in  disordered  heaps  in  an  ill-kept  chamber,  books  which 
predated  the  Hegira,  and  were  as  near  to  the  life  of  the 
Early  Church  as  the  Scriptures  themselves — or  were  so 

38i 


THE    WEAVERS 

reputed.  Student  and  pious  Muslim  as  he  was,  renowned 
at  El  Azhar  and  at  every  Muslim  university  in  the 
Eastern  world,  he  swore  by  the  name  of  Christ  as  by  that 
of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  all  the  prophets,  though  to  him 
Mahomet  was  the  last  expression  of  Heaven's  will  to 
mankind.  At  first  received  at  the  monastery  with  un- 
concealed aversion,  and  not  without  danger  to  himself, 
he  had  at  last  won  to  him  the  fanatical  monks,  who,  in 
spirit,  kept  this  ancient  foundation  as  rigid  to  their  faith 
as  though  it  were  in  medieval  times.  And  though  their 
discipline  was  lax,  and  their  daily  duties  orderless,  this 
was  Oriental  rather  than  degenerate.  Here  Ebn  Ezra 
had  stayed  for  weeks  at  a  time  in  the  past,  not  without 
some  religious  scandal,  long  since  forgotten. 

His  prayers  ended,  he  rose  up  slowly,  once  more  spread 
out  his  hands  in  ascription,  and  was  about  to  enter  the 
monastery,  when,  glancing  towards  the  west,  he  saw  a 
horseman  approaching.  An  instinct  told  him  who  it  was 
before  he  could  clearly  distinguish  the  figure,  and  his  face 
lighted  with  a  gentle  and  expectant  smile.  Then  his 
look  changed. 

"He  is  in  trouble,"  he  murmured.  "As  it  was  with 
his  uncle  in  Damascus,  so  will  it  be  with  him.  Malaish, 
we  are  in  the  will  of  God! " 

The  hand  that  David  laid  in  Ebn  Ezra's  was  hot  and 
nervous,  the  eyes  that  drank  in  the  friendship  of  the 
face  which  had  seen  two  Claridges  emptying  out  their 
lives  in  the  East  were  burning  and  famished  by  long  fast- 
ing of  the  spirit,  forced  abstinence  from  the  pleasures  of 
success  and  fruition — haunting,  desiring  eyes,  where 
flamed  a  spirit  which  consumed  the  body  and  the  in- 
domitable mind.  Their  lips,  however,  had  their  old  trick 
of  smiling,  though  the  smile  which  greeted  Ebn  Ezra  Bey 
had  a  melancholy  which  touched  the  desert-worn,  life- 
spent  old  Arab  as  he  had  not  been  touched  since  a  smile, 

382 


THE    WEAVERS 

just  like  this,  flashed  up  at  him  from  the  weather-stained, 
dying  face  of  quaint  Benn  Claridge  in  a  street  of  Damas- 
cus. The  natural  duplicity  of  the  Oriental  had  been 
abashed  and  inactive  before  the  simple  and  astounding 
honesty  of  these  two  Quaker  folk 

He  saw  crisis  written  on  every  feature  of  the  face 
before  him.  Yet  the  scanty  meal  they  ate  with  the 
monks  in  the  ancient  room  was  enlivened  by  the  eager 
yet  quiet  questioning  of  David,  to  whom  the  monks 
responded  with  more  spirit  than  had  been  often  seen  in 
this  arid  retreat.  The  single  torch  which  spluttered  from 
the  wall  as  they  drank  their  coffee  lighted  up  faces  as 
strange,  withdrawn,  and  unconsciously  secretive  as  ever 
gathered  to  greet  a  guest.  Dim  tales  had  reached  them 
of  this  Christian  reformer  and  administrator,  scraps  of 
legend  from  stray  camel-drivers,  a  letter  from  the  Pa- 
triarch commanding  them  to  pray  blessings  on  his  labors 
— who  could  tell  what  advantage  might  not  come  to 
the  Coptic  Church  through  him,  a  Christian!  On  the 
dull,  torpid  faces,  light  seemed  struggling  to  live  for 
a  moment,  as  David  talked.  It  was  as  though  some- 
thing in  their  meagre  lives,  which  belonged  to  unde- 
veloped feelings,  was  fighting  for  existence — a  light  strug- 
gling to  break  through  murky  veils  of  inexperience. 

Later,  in  the  still  night,  however — still,  though  air 
vibrated  everywhere,  as  though  the  desert  breathed  an 
ether  which  was  to  fill  men's  veins  with  that  which 
quieted  the  fret  and  fever  of  life's  disillusions  and  for- 
geries and  failures — David's  speech  with  Ebn  Ezra  Bey 
was  of  a  different  sort.  If,  as  it  seems  ever  in  the  desert, 
an  invisible  host  of  beings,  once  mortal,  now  immortal, 
but  suspensive  and  understanding,  listened  to  the  tale 
he  unfolded,  some  glow  of  pity  must  have  possessed 
them;  for  it  was  an  Iliad  of  herculean  struggle  against 
absolute    disaster,  ending  with   the   bitter   news   of   his 

mdfathcr's    death.       It    was    the    story    of    CEdipus 

383 


THE    WEAVERS 

overcome  by  events  too  strong  for  soul  to  bear.  In 
return,  as  the  stars  wheeled  on,  and  the  moon  stole  to 
the  zenith,  majestic  and  slow,  Ebn  Ezra  offered  to  his 
troubled  friend  only  the  philosophy  of  the  predesti- 
narian,  mingled  with  the  calm  of  the  stoic.  But  some- 
thing antagonistic  to  his  own  dejection,  to  the  Muslim's 
fatalism,  emerged  from  David's  own  altruism,  to  nerve 
him  to  hope  and  effort  still.  His  unconquerable  opti- 
mism rose  determinedly  to  the  surf  ace ,  even  as  he  summed 
up  and  related  the  forces  working  against  him. 

"They  have  all  come  at  once,"  he  said;  "all  the 
activities  opposing  me,  just  as  though  they  had  all  been 
started  long  ago  at  different  points,  with  a  fixed  course 
to  run,  and  to  meet  and  give  me  a  fall  in  the  hour  when 
I  could  least  resist.  You  call  it  Fate.  I  call  it  what  it 
proves  itself  to  be.  But  here  it  is  a  hub  of  danger  and 
trouble,  and  the  spokes  of  disaster  are  flying  to  it  from 
all  over  the  compass,  to  make  the  wheel  that  will  grind 
me;  and  all  the  old  troop  of  Palace  intriguers  and  de- 
spoilers  are  waiting  to  heat  the  tire  and  fasten  it  on  the 
machine  of  torture.  Kaid  has  involved  himself  in  loans 
which  press,  in  foolish  experiments  in  industry  without 
due  care ;  and  now  from  ill  health  and  bad  temper  comes 
a  reaction  towards  the  old  sinister  rule,  when  the  Prince 
shuts  his  eyes  and  his  agents  ruin  and  destroy.  Three 
nations  who  have  intrigued  against  my  work  see  their 
chance,  and  are  at  Kaid's  elbow.  The  fate  of  the  Soudan 
is  in  the  balance.  It  is  all  as  the  shake  of  a  feather. 
I  can  save  it  if  I  go;  but,  just  as  I  am  ready,  my  mills 
burn  down,  my  treasury  dries  up,  Kaid  turns  his  back 
on  me,  and  the  toil  of  years  is  swept  away  in  a  night. 
Thee  sees  it  is  terrible,  friend?" 

Ebn  Ezra  looked  at  him  seriously  and  sadly  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said:  "Is  it  given  one  man  to  do  all ? 
If  many  men  had  done  these  things,  then  there  had  been 
one  blow  for  each.     Now  all  falls  on  thee,  Saadat.     Is 

384 


THE    WEAVERS 

it  the  will  of  God  that  one  man  should  fling  the  lance, 
fire  the  cannon,  dig  the  trenches,  gather  food  for  the 
army,  drive  the  horses  on  to  battle,  and  bury  the  dead? 
Canst  thou  do  all?" 

David's  eyes  brightened  to  the  challenge.  "There 
was  the  work  to  do,  and  there  were  not  the  many  to  do 
it.  My  hand  was  ready;  the  call  came;  I  answered.  I 
plunged  into  the  river  of  work  alone." 

"Thou  didst  not  know  the  strength  of  the  currents, 
the  eddies  and  the  whirlpools,  the  hidden  rocks — and 
the  shore  is  far  off,  Saadat." 

"It  is  not  so  far  that,  if  I  could  but  get  breath  to 
gather  strength,  I  should  reach  the  land  in  time.  Money 
— ah,  but  enough  for  this  expedition!  That  over,  order, 
quiet  yonder,  my  own  chosen  men  as  governors,  and  I 
could" — he  pointed  towards  the  southern  horizon — 
"I  could  plant  my  foot  in  Cairo,  and  from  the  centre 
control  the  great  machinery — -with  Raid's  help;  and 
God's  help.  A  sixth  of  a  million,  and  Raid's  hand 
behind  me,  and  the  boat  would  lunge  free  of  the  sand- 
banks and  churn  on,  and  churn  on!  .  .  .  Friend,"  he 
added,  with  the  winning  insistence  that  few  found  it 
possible  to  resist,  "if  all  be  well,  and  we  go  thither, 
wilt  thou  become  the  governor-general  yonder?  With 
thee  to  rule  justly  where  there  is  most  need  of  justice, 
the  end  would  be  sure — if  it  be  the  will  of  God." 

Ebn  Ezra  Bey  sat  for  a  moment  looking  into  the  worn, 
eager  face,  indistinct  in  the  moonlight,  then  answered 
slowly:  "I  am  seventy,  and  the  years  smite  hard  as 
they  pass,  and  there  or  here,  it  little  matters  when  I  go, 
as  I  must  go ;  and  whether  it  be  to  bend  the  lance,  or  bear 
the  flag  before  thee,  or  rule  a  Mudirich,  what  does  it 
matter!  I  will  go  with  thee,"  he  added  hastily;  "but 
it  is  better  thou  shouldst  not  go.  Within  the  last  three 
days  I  have  news  from  the  South.  All  that  thou  hast 
done  there  is  in  danger  now.     The  word  for  revolt  has 

385 


THE    WEAVERS 

passed  from  tribe  to  tribe.  A  tongue  hath  spoken,  and 
a  hand  hath  signalled  "—his  voice  lowered — '"and  I 
think  I  know  the  tongue  and  the  hand!"  He  paused; 
then,  as  David  did  not  speak,  continued:  "Thou,  who 
art  wise  in  most  things,  dost  decline  to  seek  for  thy  foe 
in  him  who  eateth  from  the  same  dish  with  thee.  Only 
when  it  is  too  late  thou  wilt  defend  thyself  and  all  who 
keep  faith  with  thee." 

David's  face  clouded.  "Nahoum,  thou  dost  mean 
Nahoum?  But  thou  dost  not  understand,  and  there 
is  no  proof." 

"As  a  camel  knows  the  coming  storm  while  yet  the 
sky  is  clear,  by  that  which  the  eye  does  not  see,  so  do  I 
feel  Nahoum.  The  evils  thou  hast  suffered,  Saadat, 
are  from  his  hand,  if  from  any  hand  in  Egypt — " 

Suddenly  he  leaned  over  and  touched  David's  arm. 
"Saadat,  it  is  of  no  avail.  There  is  none  in  Egypt  that 
desires  good;  thy  task  is  too  great.  All  men  will 
deceive  thee;  if  not  now,  yet  in  time.  If  Kaid  favors 
thee  once  more,  and  if  it  is  made  possible  for  thee  to  go 
to  the  Soudan,  yet  I  pray  thee  to  stay  here.  Better  be 
smitten  here,  where  thou  canst  get  help  from  thine  own 
country,  if  need  be,  than  yonder,  where  they  but  wait 
to  spoil  thy  work  and  kill  thee.  Thou  art  young;  wilt 
thou  throw  thy  life  away?  Art  thou  not  needed  here 
as  there?  For  me,  it  is  nothing  whether  it  be  now  or 
in  a  few  benumbing  years ;  but  for  thee — is  there  no  one 
whom  thou  lovest  so  well  that  thou  wouldst  not  shelter 
thy  life  to  spare  that  life  sorrow?  Is  there  none  that 
thou  lovest  so,  and  that  will  love  thee  to  mortal  sorrow, 
if  thou  goest  without  care  to  thy  end  too  soon?" 

As  a  warm  wind  suddenly  sweeps  across  the  cool  air  of  a 
summer  evening  for  an  instant,  suffocating  and  unnerving, 
so  Ebn  Ezra's  last  words  swept  across  David's  spirit.  His 
breath  came  quicker,  his  eyes  half  closed.  "  Is  there  none  that 
thou  lovest  so,  and  that  will  love  thee  to  mortal  sorrow,  if —  " 

386 


THE    WEAVERS 

As  a  hand  secretly  and  swiftly  slips  the  lever  that 
opens  the  sluice-gates  of  a  dyke,  while  the  watchman 
turns  away  for  a  moment  to  look  at  the  fields  which 
the  waters  enrich  and  the  homes  of  poor  folk  whom 
the  gates  defend,  so,  in  a  moment,  when  off  his  guard, 
worn  with  watching  and  fending,  as  it  were,  Ebn  Ezra 
had  sprung  the  lever,  and  a  flood  of  feeling  swept  over 
David,  drowned  him  in  its  impulse  and  pent-up  force. 
"7s  there  none  that  thou  lovest  so — "  Of  what  use  had 
been  all  bis  struggle  and  his  pain  since  that  last  day  in 
Hamley — his  dark  fighting  days  in  the  desert  with 
Lacey  and  Mahommed,  and  his  handful  of  faithful 
followers,  hemmed  in  by  dangers,  the  sands  swarming 
with  Arabs  who  feathered  now  to  his  safety,  now  to 
his  doom,  and  his  heart  had  hungered  for  what  he  had 
denied  it  with  a  will  that  would  not  be  conquered. 
Wasted  by  toil  and  fever  and  the  tension  of  danger  and 
the  care  of  others  dependent  on  him,  he  had  also  fought 
a  foe  which  was  ever  at  his  elbow,  ever  whispered  its 
comfort  and  seduction  in  his  ear,  the  insidious  and 
peace-giving,  exalting  opiate  that  had  tided  him  over 
some  black  places,  and  then  had  sought  for  mastery  of 
him  when  he  was  back  again  in  the  world  of  normal 
business  and  duty,  where  it  appealed  not  as  a  medicine, 
but  as  a  perilous  luxury.  And  fighting  this  foe,  which 
had  a  voice  so  soothing,  and  words  like  the  sound  of 
murmuring  waters,  and  a  cool  and  comforting  hand 
that  sought  to  lead  him  into  gardens  of  stillness  and 
passive  being,  where  he  could  no  more  hear  the  clangor 
and  vexing  noises  of  a  world  that  angered  and  agonized, 
there  had  also  been  the  lure  of  another  passion  of  the 
heart,  which  was  too  perilously  dear  to  contemplate. 
Eyes  that  were  beautiful,  and  their  beauty  was  not  for 
him;  a  spirit  that  was  bright  and  glowing,  but  the 
brightness  and  the  glow  might  not  renew  his  days. 
It  was  hard  to  fight  alone.     Alone  he  was,  for  only  to 

387 


THE    WEAVERS 

one  may  the  doors  within  doors  be  opened — only  to 
one  so  dear  that  all  else  is  everlastingly  distant  may 
the  true  tale  of  the  life  beneath  life  be  told.  And  it  was 
not  for  him — nothing  of  this;  not  even  the  thought  of 
it;  for  to  think  of  it  was  to  desire  it,  and  to  desire  it  was 
to  reach  out  towards  it;  and  to  reach  out  towards  it 
was  the  end  of  all.  There  had  been  moments  of  aban- 
donment to  the  alluring  dream,  such  as  when  he  wrote 
the  verses  which  Lacey  had  sent  to  Hylda  from  the 
desert;  but  they  were  few.  Oft-repeated,  they  would 
have  filled  him  with  an  agitated  melancholy  impossible 
to  be  borne  in  the  life  which  must  be  his. 

So  it  had  been.  The  deeper  into  life  and  its  labors  and 
experiences  he  had  gone,  the  greater  had  been  his 
temptations,  born  of  two  passions,  one  of  the  body  and 
its  craving,  the  other  of  the  heart  and  its  desires:  and 
he  had  fought  on — towards  the  morning. 

"Is  there  none  that  thou  lovest  so,  and  that  will  love 
thee  to  mortal  sorrow,  if  thou  goest  without  care  to  thy  end 
too  soonV  The  desert,  the  dark  monastery,  the  acacia - 
tree,  the  ancient  palm,  the  ruinous  garden,  disappeared. 
He  only  saw  a  face  which  smiled  at  him,  as  it  had  done 
by  the  brazier  in  the  garden  at  Cairo,  that  night  when 
she  and  Nahoum  and  himself  and  Mizraim  had  met 
in  the  room  of  his  house  by  the  Ezbekieh  gardens,  and 
she  had  gone  out  to  her  old  life  in  England,  and  he  had 
taken  up  the  burden  of  the  East — that  long  six  years 
ago.  His  head  dropped  in  his  hands,  and  all  that  was 
beneath  the  Quaker  life  he  had  led  so  many  years, 
packed  under  the  crust  of  form  and  habit,  and  regulated 
thought,  and  controlled  emotion,  broke  forth  now,  and 
had  its  way  with  him. 

He  turned  away  staggering  and  self-reproachful  from  the 
first  question,  only  to  face  the  other — "And  that  will  love 
thee  to  mortal  sorrow,  if  thou  goest  without  care  to  thy  end  too 
soon?"     It  was  a  thought  he  had  never  let  himself  dwell 

388 


THE    WEAVERS 

on  for  an  instant  in  all  the  days  since  they  had  last  met. 
He  had  driven  it  back  to  its  covert,  even  before  he 
could  recognize  its  face.  It  was  disloyal  to  her,  an 
offence  against  all  that  she  was,  an  affront  to  his  man- 
hood to  let  the  thought  have  place  in  his  mind  even  for 
one  swift  moment.  She  was  Lord  Eglington's  wife 
— there  could  be  no  sharing  of  soul  and  mind  and  body 
and  the  exquisite  devotion  of  a  life  too  dear  for  thought. 
Nothing  that  she  was  to  Eglington  could  be  divided 
with  another,  not  for  an  hour,  not  by  one  act  of  impulse; 
or  else  she  must  be  less,  she  that  might  have  been,  if 
there  had  been  no  Eglington— 

An  exclamation  broke  from  him,  and,  as  one  crying 
out  in  one's  sleep  wakes  himself,  so  the  sharp  cry  of  his 
misery  woke  him  from  the  trance  of  memory  that  had 
been  upon  him,  and  he  slowly  became  conscious  of  Ebn 
Ezra  standing  before  him.  Their  eyes  met,  and  Ebn 
Ezra  spoke: 

"  The  will  of  Allah  be  thy  will,  Saadat.  If  it  be  to  go 
to  the  Soudan,  I  am  thine;  if  it  be  to  stay,  I  am  thy 
servant  and  thy  brother.  But  whether  it  be  life  or 
death,  thou  must  sleep,  for  the  young  are  like  water 
without  sleep.  Thou  canst  not  live  in  strength  nor  die 
with  fortitude  without  it.  For  the  old,  malaish,  old 
age  is  between  a  sleeping  and  a  waking!  Come,  Saadat! 
Forget  not,  thou  must  ride  again  to  Cairo  at  dawn." 

David  got  slowly  to  his  feet  and  turned  towards  the 
monastery.  The  figure  of  a  monk  stood  in  the  doorway 
with  a  torch  to  light  him  to  his  room. 

He  turned  to  Ebn  Ezra  again.  "Does  thee  think  that 
I  have  aught  of  his  courage — my  Uncle  Benn?  Thou 
knowest  me — shall  I  face  it  out  as  did  he  ? " 

"Saadat,"  the  old  man  answered  pointing,  "yonder 
acacia,  that  was  he,  quick  to  grow  and  short  to  live; 
but  thou  art  as  this  date-palm,  which  giveth  food  to 
the    hungry,   and    liveth    through    generations.      Peace 

389 


THE    WEAVERS 

be  upon  thee,"  he  added  at  the  doorway,  as  the  torch 
flickered  towards  the  room  where  David  was  to  lie. 

"And  upon  thee,  peace!"  answered  David  gently,  and 
followed  the  smoky  light  to  an  inner  chamber. 

The  room  in  which  David  found  himself  was  lofty  and 
large,  but  was  furnished  with  only  a  rough  wooden  bed, 
a  rug  and  a  brazier.  Left  alone,  he  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  and,  for  a  few  moments,  his  mind  strayed 
almost  vaguely  from  one  object  to  another.  From  two 
windows  far  up  in  the  wall  the  moonlight  streamed  in, 
making  bars  of  light  aslant  the  darkness.  Not  a  sound 
broke  the  stillness.  Yet,  to  his  sensitive  nerves,  the  air 
seemed  tingling  with  sensation,  stirring  with  unseen 
activities.  Here  the  spirit  of  the  desert  seemed  more 
insistent  in  its  piercing  vitality,  because  it  was  shut  in 
by  four  stone  walls. 

Mechanically  he  took  off  his  coat,  and  was  about  to 
fold  and  lay  it  on  the  rug  beside  the  bed,  when  something 
hard  in  one  of  the  pockets  knocked  against  his  knee. 
Searching,  he  found  and  drew  forth  a  small  bottle  which, 
for  many  a  month  past,  had  lain  in  the  drawer  of  a  table 
where  he  had  placed  it  on  his  return  from  the  Soudan. 
It  was  an  evil  spirit  which  sent  this  tiny  phial  to  his  hand 
at  a  moment  when  he  had  paid  out  of  the  full  treasury 
of  his  strength  and  will  its  accumulated  deposit,  leaving 
him  with  a  balance  on  which  no  heavy  draft  could  be 
made.  His  pulse  quickened,  then  his  body  stiffened  with 
the  effort  at  self-control. 

Who  placed  this  evil  elixir  in  his  pocket?  What  any 
enemy  of  his  work  had  done  was  nothing  to  what  might 
be  achieved  by  the  secret  foe,  who  had  placed  this  ano- 
dyne within  his  reach  at  this  the  most  critical  moment 
of  his  life.  He  remembered  the  last  time  he  had  used  it 
— in  the  desert:  two  days  of  forgetfulness  to  the  world, 
when  it  all  moved  by  him,  the  swarming  Arabs,  the  train 
of  camels,  the  loads  of  ivory,  the  slimy  crocodile  on  the 

39o 


THE    WEAVERS 

sandbanks,  the  vultures  hovering  above  unburied  car- 
casses, the  kourbash  descending  on  shining  black  shoul- 
ders, corrugating  bare  brown  bodies  into  cloven  skin  and 
lacerated  flesh,  a  fight  between  champions  of  two  tribes 
who  clashed  and  smote  and  struggled  and  rained  blows, 
and,  both  mortally  wounded,  still  writhed  in  last  con- 
flict upon  the  ground — and  Mahommed  Hassan  ever  at 
the  tent  door  or  by  his  side,  towering,  watchful,  sullen  to 
all  faces  without,  smiling  to  his  own,  with  dog-like  look 
waiting  for  any  motion  of  his  hand  or  any  word. 
Ah!  Mahommed  Hassan,  it  was  he!  Mahommed  had 
put  this  phial  in  his  pocket.  His  bitter  secret  was  not 
hidden  from  Mahommed.  And  this  was  an  act  of  su- 
preme devotion — to  put  at  his  hand  the  lulling,  inspiring 
draught.  Did  this  fellah  servant  know  what  it  meant — • 
the  sin  of  it,  the  temptation,  the  terrible  joy,  the  blessed 
quiet;  and  then,  the  agonizing  remorse,  the  withering 
self-hatred  and  torturing  penitence?  No,  Mahommed 
only  knew  that  when  the  Saadat  was  gone  beyond  his 
strength,  when  the  sleepless  nights  and  feverish  days 
came  in  the  past,  in  their  great  troubles,  when  men  were 
dying  and  only  the  Saadat  could  save,  that  this  cordial 
lifted  him  out  of  misery  and  storm  into  calm.  Yet  Ma- 
hommed must  have  divined  that  it  was  a  thing  against 
which  his  soul  revolted,  or  he  would  have  given  it  to  him 
openly.  In  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  giant  murderer, 
however,  must  have  been  the  thought  that  now  when 
trouble  was  upon  his  master  again,  trouble  which  might 
end  all,  this  supreme  destroyer  of  pain  and  dark  memory 
and  present  misery,  would  give  him  the  comfort  he 
needed — and  that  he  would  take  it! 

If  he  had  not  seen  it,  this  sudden  craving  would  not 
have  seized  him  for  this  eager  beguiling,  this  soothing 
benevolence.  Yet  here  it  was  in  his  hand;  and  even  as 
it  lay  in  his  cold  fingers — how  cold  they  were,  and  his 
head  how  burning! — the  desire  for  it  surged  up  in  him. 

26  391 


THE    WEAVERS 

And,  as  though  the  thing  itself  had  the  magical  power  to 
summon  up  his  troubles,  that  it  might  offer  the  apathy 
and  stimulus  in  one — even  as  it  lured  him,  his  dangers, 
his  anxieties,  the  black  uncertainties  massed,  multiplied 
and  aggressive  rose  before  him,  buffeted  him,  caught  at 
his  throat,  dragged  down  his  shoulders,  clutched  at  his 
heart. 

Now,  with  a  cry  of  agony,  he  threw  the  phial  on  the 
ground,  and,  sinking  on  the  bed,  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  moaned,  and  fought  for  freedom  from  the 
cords  tightening  round  him.  It  was  for  him  to  realize 
now  how  deep  are  the  depths  to  which  the  human  soul 
can  sink,  even  while  laboring  to  climb.  Once  more  the 
sense  of  awful  futility  was  on  him:  of  wasted  toil  and 
blenched  force,  veins  of  energy  drained  of  their  blood, 
hope  smitten  in  the  way,  and  every  dear  dream  shat- 
tered. Was  it,  then,  all  ended?  Was  his  work  indeed 
fallen,  and  all  his  love  undone?  Was  his  own  redemp- 
tion made  impossible?  He  had  offered  up  his  life  to  this 
land  to  atone  for  a  life  taken  when  she — when  she  first 
looked  up  with  eyes  of  gratitude,  eyes  that  haunted  him! 
Was  it,  then,  unacceptable  ?  Was  it  so  that  he  must  turn 
his  back  upon  this  long,  heart-breaking  but  beloved 
work,  this  panacea  for  his  soul,  without  which  he  could 
not  pay  the  price  of  blood? 

Go  back  to  England — to  Hamley  where  all  had 
changed,  where  the  old  man  he  loved,  no  longer 
ruled  in  the  Red  Mansion,  where  all  that  had  been 
could  be  no  more?  Go  to  some  other  land,  and  there 
begin  again  another  such  a  work?  Were  there  not  vast 
fields  of  human  effort,  effort  such  as  his,  where  he  could 
ease  the  sorrow  of  living  by  the  joy  of  a  divine  altru- 
ism? Go  back  to  Hamley?  Ah,  no,  a  million  times, 
no!  That  life  was  dead,  it  was  a  cycle  of  years  behind 
him.  There  could  be  no  return.  He  was  in  a  mael- 
strom of  agony,  his  veins  were  afire,  his  lips  were  parched. 

392 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  sprang  from  his  bed,  knelt  down,  and  felt  for  the 
little  phial  he  had  flung  aside.  After  a  moment  his 
hand  caught  it,  clutched  it.  But,  even  at  the  crest  of 
the  wave  of  temptation,  words  that  he  had  heard  one 
night  in  Hamley,  that  last  night  of  all,  flashed  into  his 
mind — the  words  of  old  Luke  Claridge's  prayer,  "And 
if  a  viper  fasten  on  his  hand,  O  Lord — " 

Suddenly  he  paused.  That  scene  in  the  old  Meeting- 
house swam  before  his  eyes,  got  into  his  brain.  He  re- 
membered the  words  of  his  own  prayer,  and  how  he  had 
then  retreated  upon  the  Power  that  gave  him  power,  for 
a  draught  of  the  one  true  tincture  which  braced  the  heart 
to  throw  itself  upon  the  spears  of  trial.  And  now  the 
trial  had  come,  and  that  which  was  in  him  as  deep  as 
being,  the  habit  of  youth,  the  mother-fibre  and  predis- 
position responded  to  the  draught  he  had  drunk  then. 
As  a  body  freed  from  the  quivering,  unrelenting  grasp  of 
an  electric  battery  subsides  into  a  cool  quiet,  so,  througli 
his  veins,  seemed  to  pass  an  ether  which  stilled  the  tumult, 
the  dark  desire  to  drink  the  potion  in  his  hand  and  es- 
cape into  that  irresponsible,  artificial  world,  where  he 
had  before  loosened  his  hold  on  activity. 

The  phial  slipped  from  his  fingers  to  the  floor.  He 
sank  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  and,  placing  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  he  whispered  a  few  broken  words  that  none 
on  earth  was  meant  to  hear.  Then  he  passed  into  a 
strange  and  moveless  quiet  of  mind  and  body.  Many  a 
time  in  days  gone  by — far-off  days — had  he  sat  as  he 
was  doing  now,  feeling  his  mind  pass  into  a  soft,  com- 
forting quiet,  absorbed  in  a  sensation  of  existence,  as  it 
were  between  waking  and  sleeping,  where  doors  opened 
to  new  experience  and  understanding,  where  the  mind 
seemed  to  loose  itself  from  the  bonds  of  human  necessity 
and  find  a  freer  air. 

Now,  as  he  sat  as  still  as  the  stone  in  the  walls  around 
him,  he  was  conscious  of  a  vision  forming  itself  before 

393 


THE    WEAVERS 

his  eyes.  At  first  it  was  indefinite,  vague,  without  clear 
form,  but  at  last  it  became  a  room  dimly  outlined,  deli- 
cately veiled,  as  it  were.  Then  it  seemed,  not  that  the 
mist  cleared,  but  that  his  eyes  became  stronger,  and  saw 
through  the  delicate  haze;  and  now  the  room  became 
wholly,  concretely  visible. 

It  was  the  room  in  which  he  had  said  good-by  to 
Hylda.  As  he  gazed  like  one  entranced,  he  saw  a  figure 
rise  from  a  couch,  pale,  agitated,  and  beautiful,  and  come 
forward,  as  it  were,  towards  him.  But  suddenly  the  mist 
closed  in  again  upon  the  scene,  a  depth  of  darkness 
passed  his  eyes,  but  he  heard  a  voice  say,  "Speak— speak 
to  me!" 

He  heard  her  voice  as  distinctly  as  though  she  were 
beside  him — as,  indeed,  she  had  stood  before  him  but  an 
instant  ago. 

Getting  slowly  to  his  feet,  into  the  night  he  sent  an 
answer  to  the  call. 

Would  she  hear?  She  had  said  long  ago  that  she 
would  speak  to  him  so.  Perhaps  she  had  tried  before. 
But  now  at  last  he  had  heard  and  answered.  Had  she 
heard?  Time  might  tell — if  ever  they  met  again.  But 
how  good,  and  quiet,  and  serene  was  the  night! 

He  composed  himself  to  sleep,  but,  as  he  lay  waiting 
for  that  coverlet  of  forgetfulness  to  be  drawn  over  him, 
he  heard  the  sound  of  bells  soft  and  clear.  Just  such 
bells  he  had  heard  upon  the  common  at  Hamley.  Was 
it,  then,  the  outcome  of  his  vision,  a  sweet  hallucination? 
He  leaned  upon  his  elbow  and  listened 


XXXII 

FORTY    STRIPES    SAVE    ONE 

The  bells  that  rang  were  not  the  bells  of  Hamley;  they 
were  part  of  no  vision  or  hallucination,  and  they  drew 
David  out  of  his  chamber  into  the  night.  A  little  group 
of  three  stood  sharply  silhouetted  against  the  moonlight, 
and,  towering  above  them,  was  the  spare,  commanding 
form  of  Ebn  Ezra  Bey.  Three  camels  crouched  near, 
and  beside  them  stood  a  Nubian  lad  singing  to  himself 
the  song  of  the  camel-driver: 

"Fleet  is  thy  foot:  thou  shalt  rest  by  the  Etl  tree; 
Water  shalt  thou  drink  from  the  blue-deep  well ; 
Allah  send  His  gard'ner  with  the  green  bersim, 
For  thy  comfort,  fleet  one,  by  the  Etl  tree. 
As  the  stars  fly,  have  thy  footsteps  flown — 
Deep  is  the  well,  drink,  and  be  still  once  more; 
Till  the  pursuing  winds  panting  have  found  thee 
And,  defeated,  sink  still  beside  thee — 
By  the  well  and  the  Etl  tree." 

For  a  moment  David  stood  in  the  doorway  listening  to 
the  low  song  of  the  camel-driver.  Then  he  came  for- 
ward. As  he  did  so,  one  of  the  two  who  stood  with  Ebn 
Ezra  moved  towards  the  monastery  door  slowly.  It 
was  a  monk  with  a  face  which,  even  in  this  dim  light, 
showed  a  deathly  weariness.  The  eyes  looked  straight 
before  him,  as  though  they  saw  nothing  of  the  world, 
only  a  goal  to  make,  an  object  to  be  accomplished. 
The  look  of  the  face  went  to  David's  heart — the  kinship 
of  pain  was  theirs. 

395 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Peace  be  to  thee,"  David  said  gently,  as  the  other 
passed  him. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  and  then  the  monk 
faced  him  with  fingers  uplifted.  "The  grace  of  God  be 
upon  thee,  David,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes,  drawn  back 
from  the  world  where  they  had  been  exploring,  met  the 
other's  keenly.  Then  he  wheeled  and  entered  the  mon- 
astery. 

'The  grace  of  God  be  upon  thee,  David!"  How 
strange  it  sounded,  this  Christian  blessing  in  response 
to  his  own  Oriental  greeting,  out  in  this  Eastern  waste! 
His  own  name,  too.  It  was  as  though  he  had  been 
transported  to  the  ancient  world  where  "Brethren" 
were  so  few  that  they  called  each  other  by  their  "Chris- 
tian" names — even  as  they  did  in  Hamley  to-day!  In 
Hamley  to-day!  He  closed  his  eyes,  a  tremor  running 
through  his  body;  and  then,  with  an  effort  which  stilled 
him  to  peace  again,  he  moved  forward,  and  was  greeted 
by  Ebn  Ezra,  from  whom  the  third  member  of  the  little 
group  had  now  drawn  apart  nearer  to  the  acacia-tree, 
and  was  seated  on  a  rock  that  jutted  from  the  sand. 

"What  is  it?"  David  asked. 

'Wouldst  thou  not  sleep,  Saadat?  Sleep  is  more  to 
thee  now  than  aught  thou  mayst  hear  from  any  man. 
To  all  thou  art  kind  save  thyself." 

"I  have  rested,"  David  answered,  with  a  measured 
calmness,  revealing  to  his  friend  the  change  which  had 
come  since  they  parted  an  hour  before.  They  seated 
themselves  under  the  palm-tree,  and  were  silent  for  a 
moment,  then  Ebn  Ezra  said: 

"These  come  from  the  Place  of  Lepers." 

David  started  slightly.  "Zaida?"  he  asked,  with  a 
sigh  of  pity. 

'The  monk  who  passed  thee  but  now  goes  every  year 
to  the  Place  of  Lepers  with  the  caravan,  for  a  brother 
of  this  order  stays  yonder  with  the  afflicted,  seeing  no 

396 


"t 


HE    HEARD    A    VO!  v.   '  SPEAK SPEAK    TO    ME 


THE    WEAVERS 

more  the  faces  of  this  world  which  he  has  left  behind. 
Afar  off  from  each  other  they  stand — as  far  as  eye  can 
see — and  after  the  manner  of  their  faith  they  pray  to 
Allah,  and  he  who  has  just  left  us  finds  a  paper  fastened 
with  a  stone  upon  the  sand  at  a  certain  place  where  he 
waits.  He  touches  it  not,  but  reads  it  as  it  lies,  and, 
having  read,  heaps  sand  upon  it.  And  the  message 
which  the  paper  gives  is  for  me." 

"For  thee?  Hast  thou  there  one  who — ?" 
"There  was  one,  my  father's  son,  though  we  were  of 
different  mothers ;  and  in  other  days,  so  many  years  ago, 
he  did  great  wrong  to  me,  and  not  to  me  alone," — the 
gray  head  bowed  in  sorrow — "but  to  one  dearer  to  me 
than  life.  I  hated  him,  and  would  have  slain  him,  but 
the  mind  of  Allah  is  not  the  mind  of  man ;  and  he  escaped 
me.  Then  he  was  stricken  with  leprosy,  and  was  car- 
ried to  the  place  from  whence  no  leper  returns.  At 
first  my  heart  rejoiced;  then,  at  last,  I  forgave  him, 
Saadat — was  he  not  my  father's  son,  and  was  the  woman 
not  gone  to  the  bosom  of  Allah,  where  is  peace?  So]  I 
forgave  and  sorrowed  for  him — who  shall  say  what 
miseries  are  those  which,  minute  to  minute,  day  after 
day,  and  year  upon  year,  repeat  themselves,  till  it  is  an 
endless  flaying  of  the  body  and  burning  of  the  soul! 
Every  year  I  send  a  message  to  him,  and  every  year  now 
this  Christian  monk — there  is  no  Sheikh-el-Islam  yonder 
— brings  back  the  written  message  which  he  finds  in  the 
sand." 

"And  thee  has  had  a  message  to-night?" 
a  The  last  that  may  come — God  be  praised,  he  goeth 
to  his  long  home!  It  was  written  in  his  last  hour. 
There  was  no  hope;  he  is  gone.  And  so,  one  more 
reason  showeth  why  I  should  go  where  thou  goest, 
Saadat." 

Casting  his  eyes  toward  the  figure  by  the  acacia-tree, 
his  face  clouded  and  he  pondered  anxiously,  looking  at 

397 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  the  while.  Twice  he  essayed  to  speak,  but 
paused. 

David's  eyes  followed  his  look.  'What  is  it?  Who 
is  he — yonder?" 

The  other  rose  to  his  feet.  "Come  and  see,  Saadat," 
he  replied.      "  Seeing,  thou  wilt  know  what  to  do." 

"Zaida — is  it  of  Zaida?"  David  asked. 

"The  man  will  answer  for  himself,  Saadat." 

Coming  within  a  few  feet  of  the  figure  crouched  upon 
the  rock,  Ebn  Ezra  paused  and  stretched  out  a  hand. 
"A  moment,  Saadat.  Dost  thou  not  see,  dost  thou  not 
recognize  him?" 

David  intently  studied  the  figure,  which  seemed  un- 
conscious of  their  presence.  The  shoulders  were  stoop- 
ing and  relaxed  as  though  from  great  fatigue,  but  David 
could  see  that  the  figure  was  that  of  a  tall  man.  The 
head  was  averted,  but  a  rough  beard  covered  the  face, 
and,  in  the  light  of  the  fire,  one  hand  that  clutched  it 
showed  long  and  skinny  and  yellow  and  cruel.  The 
hand  fascinated  David's  eyes.  Where  had  he  seen  it? 
It  flashed  upon  him— a  hand  clutching  a  robe,  in  a  frenzy 
of  fear,  in  the  courtyard  of  the  blue  tiles,  in  Raid's  Pal- 
ace— Achmet  the  Rope-maker!  ...  He  drew  back  a 
step. 

"Achmet,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  The  figure  stirred, 
the  hand  dropped  from  the  beard  and  clutched  the  knee ; 
but  the  head  was  not  raised,  and  the  body  remained 
crouching  and  listless. 

"He  escaped?"  David  said,  turning  to  Ebn  Ezra  Bey. 

"I  know  not  by  what  means — a  camel-driver  bribed, 
perhaps,  and  a  camel  left  behind  for  him.  After  the 
caravan  had  travelled  a  day's  journey  he  joined  it. 
None  knew  what  to  do.  He  was  not  a  leper,  and  he  was 
armed. " 

"Leave  him  with  me,"  said  David. 

Ebn  Ezra  hesitated.    "  He  is  armed ;  he  was  thy  foe — v' 

398 


THE    WEAVERS 

"I  am  armed  also,"  David  answered  enigmatically, 
and  indicated  by  a  gesture  that  he  wished  to  be  left 
alone.  Ebn  Ezra  drew  away  towards  the  palm-tree, 
and  stood  at  this  distance  watching  anxiously,  for  he 
knew  what  dark  passions  seize  upon  the  Oriental — and 
Achmet  had  many  things  for  which  to  take  vengeance. 

David  stood  for  a  moment,  pondering,  his  eyes  upon 
the  deserter.  "God  greet  thee  as  thou  goest,  and  His 
goodness  befriend  thee,"  he  said  evenly.  There  was 
silence,  and  no  movement.  "Rise  and  speak,"  he  added 
sternly.     "Dost  thou  not  hear?     Rise,  Achmet  Pasha!" 

Achmet  Pasha!  The  head  of  the  desolate  wretch 
lifted,  the  eyes  glared  at  David  for  an  instant,  as  though 
to  see  whether  he  was  being  mocked,  and  then  the  spare 
figure  stretched  itself,  and  the  outcast  stood  up.  The 
old  lank  straightness  was  gone,  the  shoulders  were  bent, 
the  head  was  thrust  forward,  as  though  the  long  habit 
of  looking  into  dark  places  had  bowed  it  out  of  all 
manhood. 

"  May  grass  spring  under  thy  footstep,  Saadat,"  he  said, 
in  a  thick  voice,  and  salaamed  awkwardly — he  had  been 
so  long  absent  from  life's  formularies. 

"What  dost  thou  here,  pasha?"  asked  David  formally. 
"Thy  sentence  had  no  limit." 

"I  could  not  die  there,"  said  the  hollow  voice,  and  the 
head  sank  farther  forward.  'Year  after  year  I  lived 
there,  but  I  could  not  die  among  them.  I  was  no  leper; 
I  am  no  leper.  My  penalty  was  my  penalty,  and  I  paid 
it  to  the  full,  piastre  by  piastre  of  my  body  and  my 
mind.  It  was  not  one  death,  it  was  death  every  hour, 
every  day  I  stayed.  I  had  no  mind.  I  could  not 
think.  Mummy-cloths  were  round  my  brain ;  but  the  fire 
burned  underneath  and  would  not  die.  There  was  the 
■rt,  but  my  limbs  were  like  rushes.  I  had  no  will, 
and  I  could  not  flee.  I  was  chained  to  the  evil  place. 
If  I  stayed  it  was  death,  if  I  went  it  was  death." 

399 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Thou  art  armed  now,"  said  David  suggestively. 

Achmet  laid  a  hand  fiercely  upon  a  dagger  under  his 
robe.  "I  hid  it.  I  was  afraid.  I  could  not  die — my 
hand  was  like  a  withered  leaf;  it  could  not  strike; 
my  heart  poured  out  like  water.  Once  I  struck  a  leper, 
that  he  might  strike  and  kill  me;  but  he  lay  upon  the 
ground  and  wept,  for  all  his  anger,  which  had  been  great, 
died  in  him  at  last.  There  was  none  other  given  to 
anger  there.  The  leper  has  neither  anger,  nor  mirth, 
nor  violence,  nor  peace.  It  is  all  the  black,  silent  shame 
— and  I  was  no  leper." 

"Why  didst  thou  come?  What  is  there  but  death 
for  thee  here,  or  anywhere  thou  goest!  Raid's  arm 
will  find  thee;    a  thousand  hands  wait  to  strike  thee." 

"I  could  not  die  there —  Dost  thou  think  that  I  re- 
pent ?"  he  added  with  sudden  fierceness.  "  Is  it  that  which 
would  make  me  repent?  Was  I  worse  than  thousands 
of  others?  I  have  come  out  to  die — to  fight  and  die. 
Aiwa,  I  have  come  to  thee,  whom  I  hated,  because  thou 
canst  give  me  death  as  I  desire  it.  My  mother  was  an 
Arab  slave  from  Senaar,  and  she  was  got  by  war,  and 
all  her  people.  War  and  fighting  were  their  portion — 
as  they  ate,  as  they  drank  and  slept.  In  the  black  years 
behind  me  among  the  Unclean,  there  was  naught  to 
fight — could  one  fight  the  dead,  and  the  agony  of  death, 
and  the  poison  of  the  agony!  Life,  it  is  done  for  me — 
am  I  not  accursed?  But  to  die  fighting — ay,  fighting 
for  Egypt,  since  it  must  be,  and  fighting  for  thee,  since 
it  must  be;  to  strike,  and  strike,  and  strike,  and  earn 
death!  Must  the  dog,  because  he  is  a  dog,  die  in  the 
slime?  Shall  he  not  be  driven  from  the  village  to 
die  in  the  clean  sand?  Saadat,  who  will  see  in  me 
Achmet  Pasha,  who  did  with  Egypt  what  he  willed, 
and  was  swept  away  by  the  besom  in  thy  hand?  Is 
there  in  me  aught  of  that  Achmet  that  any  should 
know?" 

400 


THE    WEAVERS 

"None  would  know  thee  for  that  Achmet,"  answered 
David. 

"I  know,  it  matters  not  how — at  last  a  letter  found 
me,  and  the  way  of  escape — that  thou  goest  again  to 
the  Soudan.     There  will  be  fighting  there — " 

"Not  by  my  will,"  interrupted  David. 

"Then  by  the  will  of  Sheitan  the  accursed;  but 
there  will  be  fighting — am  I  not  an  Arab,  do  I  not 
know?  Thou  hast  not  conquered  yet.  Bid  me  go 
where  thou  wilt,  do  what  thou  wilt,  so  that  I  may  be 
among  the  fighters,  and  in  the  battle  forget  what  I  have 
seen.  Since  I  am  unclean,  and  am  denied  the  bosom 
of  Allah,  shall  I  not  go  as  a  warrior  to  Hell,  where  men 
will  fear  me?     Speak,  Saadat,  canst  thou  deny  me  this? " 

Nothing  of  repentance,  so  far  as  he  knew,  moved  the 
dark  soul;  but,  like  some  evil  spirit,  he  would  choose  the 
way  to  his  own  doom,  the  place  and  the  manner  of  it:  a 
sullen,  cruel,  evil  being,  unyielding  in  his  evil,  unmoved 
by  remorse — so  far  as  he  knew.  Yet  he  would  die 
fighting,  and  for  Egypt — "and  for  thee,  if  it  must 
be  so.  To  strike,  to  strike,  to  strike,  and  earn  death!" 
What  Achmet  did  not  see,  David  saw,  the  glimmer  of  light 
breaking  through  the  cloud  of  shame  and  evil  and 
doom.  Yonder  in  the  Soudan  more  problems  than  one 
would  be  solved,  more  lives  than  one  be  put  to  the 
extreme  test.  He  did  not  answer  Achmet's  question 
yet. 

"  Zaida — ? "  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  The  pathos  of  her 
doom  had  been  a  dark  memory. 

Achmet's  voice  dropped  lower  as  he  answered.  "She 
lived  till  the  day  her  sister  died.  I  never  saw  her 
face;  but  I  was  set  to  bear  each  day  to  her  door  the 
food  she  ate  and  a  balass  of  water;  and  I  did  according 
to  my  sentence.  Yet  I  heard  her  voice.  And  once,  at 
last,  the  day  she  died,  she  spoke  to  me,  and  said  from 
inside   the   hut,   'Thy   work    is  done,   Achmet.     Go    in 

401 


THE    WEAVERS 

peace.'  And  that  night  she  lay  down  on  her  sister's 
grave,  and  in  the  morning  she  was  found  dead  upon  it." 

David's  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears.  "It  was  too 
long,"  he  said  at  last,  as  though  to  himself. 

"That  day,"  continued  Achmet,  "there  fell  ill  with 
leprosy  the  Christian  priest  from  this  place  who  had 
served  in  that  black  service  so  long ;  and  then  a  fire 
leapt  up  in  me.  Zaida  was  gone — I  had  brought  food 
and  a  balass  of  water  to  her  door  those  many  times; 
there  was  naught  to  do,  since  she  was  gone — " 

Suddenly  David  took  a  step  nearer  to  him  and  looked 
into  the  sullen  and  drooping  eyes.  'Thou  shalt  go 
with  me,  Achmet.  I  will  do  this  unlawful  act  for  thee. 
At  daybreak  I  will  give  thee  orders.  Thou  shalt  join 
me  far  from  here — if  I  go  to  the  Soudan,"  he  added, 
with  a  sudden  remembrance  of  his  position;  and  he 
turned  away  slowly. 

After  a  moment,  with  muttered  words,  Achmet  sank 
down  upon  the  stone  again,  drew  a  cake  of  dourha  from 
his  inner  robe,  and  began  to  eat. 

The  camel-boy  had  lighted  a  fire,  and  he  sat  beside  it 
warming  his  hands  at  the  blaze  and  still  singing  to  himself: 

"The  bed  of  my  love  I  will  "sprinkle  with  attar  of  roses, 
The  face  of  my  love  I  will  touch  with  the  balm — 
With  the  balm  of  the  tree  from  the  farthermost  wood, 
From  the  wood  without  end,  in  the  world  without  end. 
My  love  holds  the  cup  to  my  lips,  and  I  drink  of  the  cup, 
And  the  attar  of  roses  I  sprinkle  will  soothe  like  the  evening  dew, 
And  the  balm  will  be  healing  and  sleep,  and  the  cup  I  will  drink, 
I  will  drink  of  the  cup  my  love  holds  to  my  lips — " 

David  stood  listening.  What  power  was  there  in 
desert  life  that  could  make  this  poor  camel-driver,  at 
the  end  of  a  long  day  of  weariness  and  toil  and  little  food 
and  drink,  sing  a  song  of  content  and  cheerfulness?  The 
little  needed,  the  little  granted,  and  no  thought  beyond — 
save  the  vision  of  one  who  waited  in  the  hut  by  the 

402 


THE    WEAVERS 

onion-field!  He  gathered  himself  together  and  tuned 
his  mind  to  the  scene  through  which  he  had  just  passed, 
and  then  to  the  interview  he  would  have  with  Kaid  on 
the  morrow.  A  few  hours  ago  he  had  seen  no  way  out  of 
it  all — he  had  had  no  real  hope  that  Kaid  would  turn  to 
him  again;  but  the  last  two  hours  had  changed  all  that. 
Hope  was  alive  in  him.  He  had  fought  a  desperate  fight 
with  himself,  and  he  had  conquered.  Then  had  come 
Achmet,  unrepentant,  degraded  still,  but  with  the  spirit 
of  Something  glowing — Achmet  to  die  for  a  cause,  driven 
by  that  Something  deep  beneath  the  degradation  and 
the  crime.  He  had  hope,  and,  as  the  camel-driver's 
voice  died  away,  and  he  lay  down  with  a  sheepskin  over 
him  and  went  instantly  to  sleep,  David  drew  to  the 
fire  and  sat  down  beside  it.  Presently  Ebn  Ezra  came 
to  urge  him  to  go  to  bed,  but  he  would  not.  He  had 
slept,  he  said;  he  had  slept  and  rested,  and  the  night 
was  good — he  would  wait.  Then  the  other  brought 
rugs  and  blankets,  and  gave  David  some,  and  lay  down 
beside  the  fire,  and  watched  and  waited  for  he  knew  not 
what.  Ever  and  ever  his  eyes  were  on  David,  and  far 
back  under  the  acacia-tree  Achmet  slept  as  he  had  not 
slept  since  his  doom  fell  on  him. 

At  last  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  also  slept ;  but  David  was  awake 
with  the  night  and  the  benevolent  moon  and  the  march- 
ing stars.  The  spirit  of  the  desert  was  on  him,  filling 
him  with  its  voiceless  music.  From  the  infinite  stretches 
of  sand  to  the  south  came  the  irresistible  call  of  life,  as 
soft  as  the  leaves  in  a  garden  of  roses,  as  deep  as  the  sea. 
This  world  was  still,  yet  there  seemed  a  low,  delicate 
humming,  as  of  multitudinous  looms  at  a  distance  so 
great  that  the  ear  but  faintly  caught  it— the  sound  of 
the  weavers  of  life  and  destiny  and  eternal  love,  the 
hands  of  the  toilers  of  all  the  ages  spinning  and  spinning 
on;  and  he  was  part  of  it,  not  abashed  or  dismayed  be- 
cause he  was  but  one  of  the  illimitable  throng. 

403 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  hours  wore  on,  but  still  he  sat  there,  peace  in  all 
his  heart,  energy  tingling  softly  through  every  vein,  the 
wings  of  hope  fluttering  at  his  ear. 

At  length  the  morning  came,  and,  from  the  west,  with 
the  rising  sun,  came  a  traveller  swiftly,  making  for  where 
he  was.  The  sleepers  stirred  around  him  and  waked  and 
rose.  The  little  camp  became  alive.  As  the  traveller 
neared  the  fresh-made  fire,  David  saw  that  it  was  Lacey. 
He  went  eagerly  to  meet  him. 

'Thee  has  news,"  he  said.      "I  see  it  is  so."     He  held 
Lacey's  hand  in  his. 

"Say,  you  are  going  on  that  expedition,  Saadat.  You 
wanted  money.      Will  a  quarter  of  a  million  do?" 

David's  eyes  caught  fire. 

From  the  monastery  there  came  the  voices  of  the 
monks: 

"O  be  joyful  in  the  Lord,  all  ye  lands.  Serve  the  Lord  with 
gladness,  and  come  before  His  presence  with  a  song.'.'- 


XXXIII 

THE    DARK    INDENTURE 

Nahoum  had  forgotten  one  very  important  thing: 
that  what  affected  David  as  a  Christian  in  Egypt  would 
tell  equally  against  himself.  If,  in  his  ill  health  and  de- 
jection, Kaid  drank  deep  of  the  cup  of  Mahomet,  the 
red  eyes  of  fanaticism  would  be  turned  upon  the  Ar- 
menian, as  upon  the  European,  Christian.  He  had  for- 
gotten it  for  the  moment,  but  when,  coming  into  Kaid's 
Palace,  a  little  knot  of  loiterers  spat  upon  the  ground 
and  snarled,  "Infidel — Nazarene!"  with  contempt  and 
hatred  the  significance  of  the  position  came  home  to 
him.  He  made  his  way  to  a  far  quarter  of  the  Palace, 
thoughtfully  weighing  the  circumstances,  and  was  met 
by  Mizraim. 

Mizraim  salaamed.  "The  height  of  thy  renown  be  as 
the  cedar  of  Lebanon,  excellency." 

"May  thy  feet  tread  the  corn  of  everlasting  fortune, 
son  of  Mahomet!" 

They  entered  the  room  together.  Nahoum  looked 
at  Mizraim  curiously.  lie  was  not  satisfied  with  what 
he  saw.  Mizraim's  impassive  face  had  little  expression, 
but  the  eyes  were  furtively  eager  and  sinister. 

"Well,  so  it  is,  and  if  it  is,  what  then?"  asked  Nahoum 
coolly. 

" Ki  di,  so  it  is,"  answered  Mizraim,  and  a  ghastly 
smile  came  to  his  lips.  This  infidel  pasha,  Nahoum, 
had  a  mind  that  pierced  to  the  meaning  of  words  ere 

405 


THE    WEAVERS 

they  were  spoken.  Mizraim's  hand  touched  his  fore- 
head, his  breast,  his  lips,  and,  clasping  and  unclasping 
his  long,  snakelike  fingers,  began  the  story  he  had  come 
to  tell. 

"The  Inglesi,  whom  Allah  confound,  the  Effendina 
hath  blackened  by  a  look,  his  words  have  smitten  him 
in  the  vital  parts — " 

"Mizraim,  thou  dove,  speak  to  the  purpose." 

Mizraim  showed  a  dark  pleasure  at  the  interruption. 
Nahoum  was  impatient,  anxious;  that  made  the  tale 
better  worth  telling. 

"Sharif  and  the  discontented  ones  who  dare  not  act, 
like  the  vultures,  they  flee  the  living  man,  but  swoop 
upon  the  corpse.  The  consuls  of  those  countries  who 
love  not  England  or  Claridge  Pasha,  and  the  holy  men, 
and  the  Cadi,  all  scatter  smoldering  fires.  There  is  a 
spirit  in  the  Palace  and  beyond  which  is  blowing  fast  to 
a  great  flame." 

"Then,  so  it  is,  great  one,  and  what  bodes  it?" 

"It  may  kill  the  Inglesi;  but  it  will  also  sweep  thee 
from  the  fields  of  life  where  thou  dost  flourish." 

"It  is  not  against  the  foreigner  but  against  the  Chris- 
tian, Mizraim?" 

"Thy  tongue  hath  wisdom,  excellency." 

"Thou  art  a  Muslim—" 

"Why  do  I  warn  thee?  For  service  done  to  me;  and 
because  there  is  none  other  worth  serving  in  Egypt. 
Behold,  it  is  my  destiny  to  rule  others,  to  serve  thee!" 

"Once  more  thy  turban  full  of  gold,  Mizraim,  if  thou 
dost  service  now  that  hath  meaning  and  is  not  a  belch- 
ing of  wind  and  words.  Thou  hast  a  thing  to  say — say 
it,  and  see  if  Nahoum  hath  lost  his  wit,  or  hath  a  palsied 
arm." 

"Then  behold,  pasha.  Are  not  my  spies  in  all  the 
Palace?  Is  not  my  scourge  heavier  than  the  whip  of 
the  horned  horse?     Ki  di,  so  it  is.     This  I  have  found. 

406 


THE    WEAVERS 

Sharif  hath,  with  others,  made  a  plot  which  hath  enough 
powder  in  it  to  shake  Egypt,  and  toss  thee  from  thy 
high  place  into  the  depths.  There  is  a  Christian — an 
Armenian,  as  it  chances;  but  he  was  chosen  because 
he  was  a  Christian,  and  for  that  only.  His  name  is 
Rahib.  He  is  a  tent-maker.  He  had  three  sons.  They 
did  kill  an  effendi  who  had  cheated  them  of  their  land. 
Two  of  them  were  hanged  last  week;  the  other,  caught 
but  a  few  days  since,  is  to  hang  within  three  days.  To- 
day Kaid  goes  to  the  Mosque  of  Mahmoud,  as  is  the 
custom  at  this  festival.  The  old  man  hath  been  per- 
suaded to  attempt  the  life  of  Kaid,  upon  condition  that 
his  son — his  Benjamin — is  set  free.  It  will  be  but  an 
attempt  at  Raid's  life,  no  more;  but  the  cry  will  go  forth 
that  a  Christian  did  the  thing;  and  the  Muslim  flame 
will  leap  high." 

"And  the  tent-maker?"  asked  Nahoum  musingly, 
though  he  was  turning  over  the  tale  in  his  mind,  seeing 
behind  it  and  its  far  consequences. 

"Malaish,  what  does  it  matter!  But  he  is  to  escape, 
and  they  are  to  hang  another  Christian  in  his  stead  for 
the  attempt  on  Raid.  It  hath  no  skill,  but  it  would 
suffice.  With  the  dervishes  gone  tnalboos,  and  the  faith- 
ful drunk  with  piety — canst  thou  not  see  the  issue, 
pasha?     Blood  will  be  shed." 

'The  Jews  of  Europe  would  be  angry,"  said  Nahoum 
grimly  but  evenly.  "The  loans  have  been  many,  and 
Kaid  has  given  a  lien  by  the  new  canal  at  Suez.  The  Jews 
will  be  angry,"  he  repeated,  "and  for  every  drop  of 
Christian  blood  shed  there  would  be  a  lanced  vein  here. 
But  that  would  not  bring  back  Nahoum  Pasha,"  he  con- 
tinued cynically.  "Well,  this  is  thy  story,  Mizraim; 
this  is  what  they  would  do.  Now  what  hast  thou  done 
to  stop  their  doing? " 

"Am  I  not  a  Muslim?  Shall  I  give  Sharif  to  the 
Nile?" 


27 


407 


THE    WEAVERS 

Nahoum  smiled  darkly.  "There  is  a  simpler  way. 
Thy  mind  ever  runs  on  the  bowstring  and  the  sword. 
These  are  great,  but  there  is  a  greater.  It  is  the  mock- 
ing finger.  At  midnight,  when  Kaid  goes  to  the  Mosque 
Mahmoud,  a  finger  will  mock  the  plotters  till  they  are 
buried  in  confusion.  Thou  knowest  the  Governor  of 
the  prisons — has  he  not  need  of  something?  Hath  he 
never  sought  favors  of  thee?" 

"Bismillah,  but  a  week  ago!" 

"Then,  listen,  thou  shepherd  of  the  sheep — " 

He  paused,  as  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  a 
slave  entered  hurriedly  and  addressed  Nahoum. 

"The  effendi,  Ebn  Ezra  Bey,  whom  thou  didst  set  me 
to  watch,  he  hath  entered  the  Palace,  and  asks  for  the 
Effendina." 

Nahoum  started,  and  his  face  clouded,  but  his  eyes 
flashed  fire.  He  tossed  the  slave  a  coin.  'Thou  hast 
done  well.     Where  is  he  now? " 

"He  waits  in  the  hall,  where  is  the  statue  of  Mehemet 
Ali  and  the  lions." 

"In  an  hour,  Mizraim,  thou  shalt  hear  what  I  intend. 
Peace  be  to  thee!" 

"And  on  thee,  peace!"  answered  Mizraim,  as  Nahoum 
passed  from  the  room,  and  walked  hastily  towards  the 
hall  where  he  should  find  Ebn  Ezra  Bey.  N earing  the 
spot,  he  brought  his  step  to  a  deliberate  slowness,  and 
appeared  not  to  notice  the  stately  Arab  till  almost  upon 
him. 

"Salaam,  effendi,"  he  said  smoothly,  yet  with  in- 
quisition in  his  eye,  with  malice  in  his  tone. 

"Salaam,  excellency." 

"Thou  art  come  on  the  business  of  thy  master?" 

"Who  is  my  master,  excellency?" 

"Till  yesterday  it  was  Claridge  Pasha.  Hast  thou 
then  forsaken  him  in  his  trouble — the  rat  from  the  sink- 
ing ship?" 

408 


THE    WEAVERS 

A  flush  passed  over  Ebn  Ezra  Bey's  face,  and  his 
mouth  opened  with  a  gasp  of  anger.  Oriental  though  he 
was,  he  was  not  as  astute  as  this  Armenian  Christian, 
who  was  purposely  insulting  him,  that  he  might,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  heat,  snatch  from  him  the  business  he  meant  to 
lay  before  Kaid.     Nahoum  had  not  miscalculated. 

"I  have  but  one  master,  excellency,"  Ebn  Ezra  an- 
swered quietly  at  last,  "  and  I  have  served  him  straightly. 
Hast  thou  done  likewise?" 

"What  is  straight  to  thee  might  well  be  crooked  to 
me,  effendi." 

"  Thou  art  crooked  as  the  finger  of  a  paralytic. " 

"Yet  I  have  worked  in  peace  with  Claridge  Pasha  for 
these  years  past,  even  until  yesterday,  when  thou  didst 
leave  him  to  his  fate." 

"His  ship  will  sail  when  thine  is  crumbling  on  the 
sands,  and  all  thou  art  is  like  a  forsaken  cockatrice's 
nest." 

"Is  it  this  thou  hast  come  to  say  to  the  Effendina?" 

"WThat  I  have  come  to  say  to  the  Effendina  is  for  the 
world  to  know  after  it  hath  reached  his  ears.  I  know 
thee,  Nahoum  Pasha.  Thou  art  a  traitor.  Claridge 
Pasha  would  abolish  slavery,  and  thou  dost  receive  great 
sums  of  gold  from  the  slave-dealers  to  prevent  it." 

"  Is  it  this  thou  wilt  tell  Kaid?"  Nahoum  asked  with  a 
sneer.     "And  hast  thou  proofs?" 

"Even  this  day  they  have  come  to  my  hands  from 
the  south." 

"Yet  I  think  the  proofs  thou  hast  will  not  avail;  and 
I  think  that  thou  wilt  not  show  them  to  Kaid.  The 
gift  of  second  thinking  is  a  great  gift.  Thou  must  find 
greater  reason  for  seeking  the  Effendina." 

' '  That,too,  shall  be.  Gold  thou  hadst  to  pay  the  wages 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  south.  Thou  didst  keep  the  gold 
and  order  the  slave-hunt;  and  the  soldiers  of  the  Effen- 
dina have  been   paid   in  human  flesh  and  blood — ten 

409 


THE    WEAVERS 

thousand  slaves  since  Claridge  Pasha  left  the  Soudan, 
and  three  thousand  dead  upon  the  desert  sands,  aban- 
doned by  those  who  hunted  them  when  water  grew 
scarce  and  food  failed.     To-day  shall  see  thy  fall." 

At  his  first  words  Nahoum  had  felt  a  shock,  from 
which  his  spirit  reeled;  but  an  inspiration  came  to  him 
on  the  moment;  and  he  listened  with  a  saturnine  cool- 
ness to  the  passionate  words  of  the  indignant  figure 
towering  above  him.  When  Ebn  Ezra  had  finished,  he 
replied  quietly: 

"  It  is  even  as  thou  say  est,  effendi.  The  soldiers  were 
paid  in  slaves  got  in  the  slave-hunt;  and  I  have  gold 
from  the  slave-dealers.  I  needed  it,  for  the  hour  is  come 
when  I  must  do  more  for  Egypt  than  I  have  ever  done." 

With  a  gesture  of  contempt  Ebn  Ezra  made  to  leave, 
seeing  an  official  of  the  Palace  in  the  distance. 

Nahoum  stopped  him.  "But,  one  moment  ere  thou 
dost  thrust  thy  hand  into  the  cockatrice's  den.  Thou  dost 
measure  thyself  against  Nahoum  ?  In  patience  and  with 
care  have  I  trained  myself  for  the  battle.  The  bulls  of 
Bashan  may  roar,  yet  my  feet  are  shod  with  safety.  Thou 
wouldst  go  to  Kaid  and  tell  him  thy  affrighted  tale. 
I  tell  thee,  thou  wilt  not  go.  Thou  hast  reason  yet, 
though  thy  blood  is  hot.  Thou  art  to  Claridge  Pasha 
like  a  brother — as  to  his  uncle  before  him,  who  furnished 
my  father's  palace  with  carpets!  The  carpets  still  soften 
the  fall  of  my  feet  in  my  father's  palace,  as  they  did  soften 
the  fall  of  my  brother's  feet,  the  feet  of  Foorgat  Bey.' 

He  paused,  looking  at  Ebn  Ezra  with  quiet  triumph, 
though  his  eyes  had  ever  that  smiling  innocence  which 
had  won  David  in  days  gone  by.  He  was  turning  his 
words  over  on  the  tongue  with  a  relish  born  of  long 
waiting. 

"Come,"  he  said  presently,  "come,  and  I  will  give  thee 
reason  why  thou  wilt  not  speak  with  Kaid  to-day.  This 
way,  effendi." 

410 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  led  the  other  into  a  little  room,  hung  about  with 
rugs  and  tapestry,  and,  going  to  the  wall,  he  touched  a 
spring.  "One  moment  here,  eflendi,"  he  added  quietly. 
The  room  was  as  it  had  been  since  David  last  stood 
within  it. 

"In  this  room,  effendi,"  Nahoum  said  with  cold  de- 
liberation, "Claridge  Pasha  killed  my  brother,  Foorgat 
Bey." 

Ebn  Ezra  fell  back  as  though  he  had  been  struck. 
Swiftly  Nahoum  told  him  the  whole  truth — even  to  the 
picture  of  the  brougham,  and  the  rigid,  upright  figure 
passing  through  the  night  to  Foorgat's  palace,  the  gaunt 
Mizraim  piloting  the  equipage  of  death. 

"I  have  held  my  peace  for  my  own  reasons,  effendi. 
Wilt  thou  then  force  me  to  speak?  If  thou  dost  still 
cherish  Claridge  Pasha,  wilt  thou  see  him  ruined? 
Naught  but  ruin  could  follow  the  telling  of  the  tale  at 
this  moment — his  work,  his  life,  all  done.  The  scandal, 
the  law,  vengeance !  But  as  it  is  now,  Kaid  may  turn  to 
him  again ;  his  work  may  yet  go  on — he  has  had  the  luck 
of  angels,  and  Kaid  is  fickle.      Who  can  tell?" 

Abashed  and  overwhelmed,  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  looked  at 
him  keenly.  'To  tell  of  Foorgat  Bey  would  ruin  thee 
also,"  he  said.  'That  thou  knowest.  The  trick — 
would  Kaid  forgive  it?  Claridge  Pasha  would  not  be 
ruined  alone." 

"  Be  it  so.  If  thou  goest  to  Kaid  with  thy  story,  I  go 
to  Egypt  with  mine.      Choose." 

Ebn  Ezra  turned  to  go.  'The  high  God  judge  be- 
tween him  and  thcc,"  he  said,  and,  with  bowed  head,  left 
the  Palace. 


XXXIV 

nahoum  drops  the  mask 

"Claridge  Pasha!" 

At  the  sound  of  the  words  announced  in  a  loud  voice, 
hundreds  of  heads  were  turned  towards  the  entrance 
of  the  vast  salon,  resplendent  with  gilded  mirrors,  great 
candelabra  and  chandeliers,  golden  hangings,  and  divans 
glowing  with  robes  of  yellow  silk. 

It  was  the  anniversary  of  Kaid's  accession,  and  all 
entitled  to  come  poured  into  the  splendid  chamber.  The 
showy  livery  of  the  officials,  the  loose,  spacious,  gorgeous 
uniform  of  the  officers,  with  the  curved,  jewelled  scimitars 
and  white  turbans,  the  rich  silk  robes  of  the  Ulema,  robe 
over  robe  of  colored  silk  with  flowing  sleeves  and  sumptu- 
ous silken  vests,  the  ample  dignity  of  noble-looking 
Arabs  in  immense  white  turbans,  the  dark,  straight 
Stambouli  coat  of  the  officials,  made  a  picture  of  striking 
variety  and  color  and  interest. 

About  the  centre  of  the  room,  laying  palm  to  palm 
again  and  yet  again,  touching  lips  and  forehead  and 
breast,  speaking  with  slow,  leisurely  voices,  were  two 
Arab  sheikhs  from  the  far  Soudan.  One  of  these  showed 
a  singular  interest  in  the  movements  of  Nahoum  Pasha 
as  he  entered  the  chamber,  and  an  even  greater  interest 
in  David  when  he  was  announced;  but  as  David,  in  his 
journey  up  the  chamber,  must  pass  near  him,  he  drew 
behind  a  little  group  of  officials,  who  whispered  to  each 
other  excitedly  as  David  came  on.     More  than  once  be- 

412 


THE    WEAVERS 

fore  this  same  sheikh  Abdullah  had  seen  David,  and  once 
they  had  met,  and  had  made  a  treaty  of  amity,  and 
Abdullah  had  agreed  to  deal  in  slaves  no  more;  and  yet 
within  three  months  had  sent  to  Cairo  two  hundred  of 
the  best  that  could  be  found  between  Khartoum  and 
Senaar.  His  business,  of  which  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  had  due 
knowledge,  had  now  been  with  Nahoum.  The  business 
of  the  other  Arab,  a  noble-looking  and  wiry  Bedouin 
from  the  south,  had  been  with  Ebn  Ezra  Bey,  and  each 
hid  his  business  from  his  friend.  Abdullah  murmured 
to  himself  as  David  passed — a  murmur  of  admiration 
and  astonishment.  He  had  heard  of  the  disfavor  in 
which  the  Inglesi  was;  but,  as  he  looked  at  David's 
face  with  its  quiet  smile,  the  influence  which  he  felt  in 
the  desert  long  ago  came  over  him  again. 

"By  Allah,"  he  said  aloud  abstractedly,  "it  is  a  face 
that  will  not  hide  when  the  khamsin  blows!  Who  shall 
gainsay  it?  If  he  were  not  an  infidel  he  would  be  a 
Mahdi." 

To  this  his  Bedouin  friend  replied:  "As  the  depths 
of  the  pool  at  Ghebel  Farik,  so  are  his  eyes.  You  shall 
dip  deep  and  you  shall  not  find  the  bottom.  Bismillah, 
I  would  fight  Kaid's  Nubians,  but  not  this  infidel  pasha!  " 

Never  had  David  appeared  to  such  advantage.  The 
victory  over  himself  the  night  before,  the  message  of 
hope  that  had  reached  him  at  the  monastery  in  the 
desert,  the  coming  of  Lacey,  had  given  him  a  certain 
quiet  masterfulness  not  reassuring  to  his  foes. 

As  he  entered  the  chamber  but  now,  there  flashed  into 
his  mind  the  scene  six  years  ago  when,  an  absolute 
stranger,  he  had  stepped  into  this  Eastern  salon,  and 
had  heard  his  name  called  out  to  the  great  throng, 
' '  Claridge  effendi! ' ' 

He  addressed  no  one,  but  he  bowed  to  the  group  of 
foreign  consuls-general,  looking  them  steadily  in  the  eyes. 
He  knew  their  devices  and  what  had  been  going  on  of 

4i3 


THE    WEAVERS 

late,  he  was  aware  that  his  fall  would  mean  a  blow  to 
British  prestige,  and  the  calmness  of  his  gaze  expressed 
a  fortitude  which  had  a  disconcerting  effect  upon  the 
group.  The  British  Consul-General  stood  near  by. 
David  advanced  to  him,  and,  as  he  did  so,  the  few  who 
surrounded  the  Consul-General  fell  back.  David  held 
out  his  hand.  Somewhat  abashed  and  ill  at  ease,  the 
Consul-General  took  it. 

"Have  you  good  news  from  Downing  Street?"  asked 
David  quietly. 

The  Consul-General  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  then 
said:  "There  is  no  help  to  be  had  for  you  or  for  what 
you  are  doing  in  that  quarter."  He  lowered  his  voice. 
"I  fear  Lord  Eglington  does  not  favor  you;  and  he  con- 
trols the  Foreign  Minister.  I  am  very  sorry.  I  have 
done  my  best,  but  my  colleagues,  the  other  consuls, 
are  busy — with  Lord  Eglington." 

David  turned  his  head  away  for  an  instant.  Strange 
how  that  name  sent  a  thrill  through  him,  stirred  his 
blood!  He  did  not  answer  the  Consul-General,  and  the 
latter  continued: 

"Is  there  any  hope?  Is  the  breach  with  Kaid  com- 
plete?" 

David  smiled  gravely.  "  We  shall  see  presently.  I  have 
made  no  change  in  my  plans  on  the  basis  of  a  breach. " 

At  that  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Nahoum  some 
distance  away,  and  moved  towards  him.  Out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  Nahoum  saw  David  coming,  and  edged 
away  towards  that  point  where  Kaid  would  enter,  and 
where  the  crowd  was  greater.  As  he  did  so,  Kaid 
appeared.  A  thrill  went  through  the  chamber.  Con- 
trary to  his  custom,  he  was  dressed  in  the  old  native 
military  dress  of  Mehemet  AH.  At  his  side  was  a 
jewelled  scimitar,  and  in  his  turban  flashed  a  great  dia- 
mond. In  his  hand  he  carried  a  snuff-box,  covered  with 
brilliants,  and  on  his  breast  were  glittering  orders. 

414 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  eyes  of  the  reactionaries  flashed  with  sinister  pleas- 
ure when  they  saw  Kaid.  This  outward  display  of  Oriental- 
ism could  only  be  a  reflex  of  the  mind.  It  was  the  outer 
symbol  of  Ka'id's  return  to  the  spirit  of  the  old  days,  before 
the  influence  of  the  Inglesi  came  upon  him.  Every  cor- 
rupt and  intriguing  mind  had  a  palpitation  of  excitement. 

In  Nahoum  the  sight  of  Kaid  produced  mixed  feelings. 
If,  indeed,  this  display  meant  reaction  towards  an  en- 
tourage purely  Arab,  Egyptian,  and  Muslim,  then  it  was 
no  good  omen  for  his  Christian  self.  He  drew  near,  and 
placed  himself  where  Kaid  could  see  him.  Kaid's 
manner  was  cheerful,  but  his  face  showed  the  effect  of 
suffering,  physical  and  mental.  Presently  there  entered 
behind  him  Sharif  Bey,  whose  appearance  was  the  signal 
for  a  fresh  demonstration.  Now,  indeed,  there  could 
be  no  doubt  as  to  Kaid's  reaction.  Yet  if  Sharif  had 
seen  Mizraim's  face  evilly  gloating  near  by,  he  would 
have  been  less  confident. 

David  was  standing  where  Kaid  must  sec  him,  but  the 
Effendina  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  This  was  so 
significant  that  the  enemies  of  David  rejoiced  anew. 
The  day  of  the  Inglesi  was  over.  Again  and  again  did 
Kaid's  eye  wander  over  David's  head. 

David  remained  calm  and  watchful,  neither  avoiding 
nor  yet  seeking  the  circle  in  which  Kaid  moved.  The  spirit 
with  which  he  had  entered  the  room,  however,  remained 
with  him,  even  when  he  saw  Kaid  summon  to  him  some 
of  the  most  fanatical  members  of  the  court  circle,  and 
in  gage  them  in  talk  for  a  moment.  But  as  this  atten- 
tion grew  more  marked,  a  cloud  slowly  gathered  in  the 
far  skies  of  his  mind. 

There  was  one  person  in  the  great  assembly,  however, 
who  seemed  to  be  unduly  confident.  It  was  an  ample, 
perspiring  person  in  evening  dress,  who  now  and  again 
moji]«  'I  a  prematurely  bald  head,  and  who  said  to  him- 
self, as  Kaid  talked  to  the  reactionaries, — 

4i5 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Say,  Raid's  overdoing  it.  He's  putting  potted  chicken 
on  the  butter.  But  it's  working  all  right — r-i-g-h-t.  It's 
worth  the  backsheesh! " 

At  this  moment,  Kaid  fastened  David  with  his  look,  and 
spoke  in  a  tone  so  loud  that  people  standing  at  some 
distance  were  startled. 

"Claridge  Pasha!" 

In  the  hush  that  followed,  David  stepped  forward. 
"May  the  bounty  of  the  years  be  thine,  Saadat,"  Kaid 
said,  in  a  tone  none  could  misunderstand. 

"May  no  tree  in  thy  orchard  wither,  Effendina,"  an- 
swered David  in  a  firm  voice. 

Kaid  beckoned  him  near,  and  again  he  spoke  loudly. 

"I  have  proved  thee,  and  found  thee  as  gold  tried 
seven  times  by  the  fire,  Saadat.  In  the  treasurv  of  my 
heart  shall  I  store  thee  up.  Thou  art  going  to  the  Soudan 
to  finish  the  work  Mehemet  Ali  began.  I  commend  thee 
to  Allah,  and  will  bid  thee  farewell  at  sunrise — I  and  all 
who  love  Egypt." 

There  was  a  sinister  smile  on  his  lips,  as  his  eyes  wan- 
dered over  the  faces  of  the  foreign  consuls-general.  The 
look  he  turned  on  the  intriguers  of  the  Palace  was  re- 
pellent; he  reserved  for  Sharif  a  moody,  threatening 
glance  and  the  desperate  hakim  shrank  back  confounded 
from  it.  His  first  impulse  was  to  flee  from  the  Palace 
and  from  Cairo;  but  he  bethought  himself  of  the  assault 
to  be  made  on  Kaid  by  the  tent-maker,  as  he  passed  to  the 
mosque  a  few  hours  later,  and  he  determined  to  await 
the  issue  of  that  event.  Exchanging  glances  with  con- 
federates, he  disappeared,  as  Kaid  laid  a  hand  on  David's 
arm  and  drew  him  aside. 

After  viewing  the  great  throng  cynically  for  a  moment, 
Kaid  said:  'To-morrow  thou  goest.  A  month  hence 
the  hakim's  knife  will  find  the  thing  that  eats  away 
my  life.  It  may  be  they  will  destroy  it  and  save  me;  if 
not, we  shall  meet  no  more." 

416 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  looked  into  his  eyes.  "Not  in  a  month  shall 
thy  work  be  completed,  Effendina.  Thou  shalt  live. 
God  and  thy  strong  will  shall  make  it  so." 

A  light  stole  over  the  superstitious  face.  "No  device 
or  hatred,  or  plot,  has  prevailed  against  thee,"  Kaid 
said  eagerly.  "Thou  hast  defeated  all — even  when  I 
turned  against  thee  in  the  black  blood  of  despair.  Thou 
hast  conquered  me — even  as  thou  didst  Harrik." 

"Thou  dost  live,"  returned  David  dryly.  "Thou 
dost  live  for  Egypt's  sake,  even  as  Harrik  died  for 
Egypt's  sake  and  as  others  shall  die." 

"Death  hath  tracked  thee  down  how  often!  Yet 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand  thou  hast  blinded  him  and  his 
blow  falls  on  the  air.  Thou  art  beset  by  a  thousand 
dangers,  yet  thou  comest  safe  through  all.  Thou  art  an 
honest  man.  For  that  I  besought  thee  to  stay  with  me. 
Never  didst  thou  lie  to  me.  Good  luck  hath  followed 
thee.  Kismet! — Stay  with  me,  and  it  may  be  I  shall  be 
safe  also.  This  thought  came  to  me  in  the  night,  and  in 
the  morning  was  my  reward,  for  Lacey  effendi  came  to 
me  and  said,  even  as  I  say  now,  that  thou  wilt  bring 
me  good  luck;  and  even  in  that  hour,  by  the  mercy  of 
God,  a  loan  much  needed  was  negotiated.  Allah  be 
praised! " 

A  glint  of  humor  shot  into  David's  eyes.  Lacey — a 
loan — he  read  it  all !  Lacey  had  eased  the  Prince  Pasha's 
immediate  and  pressing  financial  needs— and,  "Allah  be 
praised!1'  Poor  human  nature — backsheesh  to  a  Prince 
regnant ! 

"Effendina,"  he  said  presently,  "thou  didst  speak  of 
Harrik.     One  there  was  who  saved  thee  then — " 

"Zaida!"  A  change  passed  over  Kaid's  fate  "Speak! 
Thou  hast  news  of  her?     She  is  gone  ?  " 

Briefly  David  told  him  how  Zaida  was  found  upon  her 
sister's  grave.  Kaid's  face  was  turned  away  as  he  lis- 
tened. 

4i7 


THE    WEAVERS 

"She  spoke  no  word  of  me? "  Kaid  said  at  last. 

"To  whom  should  she  speak?"  David  asked  gently. 
"But  the  armlet  thou  gavest  her,  set  with  one  red  jewel, 
it  was  clasped  in  her  hand  in  death." 

Suddenly  Kaid's  anger  blazed.  "Now  shall  Achmet 
die,"  he  burst  out.  "  His  hands  and  feet  shall  be  burned 
off,  and  he  shall  be  thrown  to  the  vultures." 

"The  Place  of  the  Lepers  is  sacred  even  from  thee, 
Effendina,"  answered  David  gravely.  'Yet  Achmet 
shall  die  even  as  Harrik  died.  He  shall  die  for  Egypt 
and  for  thee,  Effendina." 

Swiftly  he  drew  the  picture  of  Achmet  at  the  monas- 
tery in  the  desert.  "I  have  done  the  unlawful  thing, 
Effendina,"  he  said  at  last,  "but  thou  wilt  make  it  lawful. 
He  hath  died  a  thousand  deaths — all  save  one." 

"Be  it  so,"  answered  Kaid  gloomily,  after  a  moment; 
then  his  face  lighted  with  cynical  pleasure  as  he  scanned 
once  more  the  faces  of  the  crowd  before  him.  At  last 
his  eyes  fastened  on  Nahoum.      He  turned  to  David. 

"Thou  dost  still  desire  Nahoum  in  his  office?"  he 
asked  keenly. 

A  troubled  look  came  into  David's  eyes,  then  it 
cleared  away,  and  he  said  firmly:  "For  six  years  we 
have  worked  together,  Effendina.  I  am  surety  for  his 
loyalty  to  thee." 

"And  his  loyalty  to  thee?" 

A  pained  look  crossed  over  David's  face  again,  but  he 
said  with  a  will  that  fought  all  suspicion  down,  "The 
years  bear  witness." 

Kaid  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly.  ' '  The  years  have 
perjured  themselves  ere  this.  Yet,  as  thou  sayest, 
Nahoum  is  a  Christian,"  he  added,  with  irony  scarcely 
veiled. 

Now  he  moved  forward  with  David  towards  the 
waiting  court.  David  searched  the  groups  of  faces 
for  Nahoum  in  vain.     There  were  things  to  be  said  to 

418 


THE    WEAVERS 

Nahoum  before  he  left  on  the  morrow,  last  suggestions 
to  be  given.     Nahoum  could  not  be  seen. 

Nahoum  was  gone,  as  were  also  Sharif  and  his  con- 
federates; and  in  the  lofty  Mosque  of  Mahmoud  soft 
lights  were  hovering,  while  the  Sheikh-el-Islam  waited 
with  Koran  and  scimitar  for  the  ruler  of  Egypt  to  pray  to 
God  and  salute  the  Lord  Mahomet. 

At  the  great  gateway  in  the  Street  of  the  Tent- 
makers  Kaid  paused  on  his  way  to  the  Mosque  Mahmoud. 
The  Gate  was  studded  with  thousands  of  nails,  which 
fastened  to  its  massive  timbers  relics  of  the  faithful, 
bits  of  silk  and  cloth,  and  hair  and  leather;  and  here 
from  time  immemorial  a  holy  man  had  sat  and  prayed. 
At  the  gateway  Kaid  salaamed  humbly,  and  spoke  to 
the  holy  man,  who,  as  he  passed,  raised  his  voice  shrilly 
in  an  appeal  to  Allah,  commending  Kaid  to  mercy  and 
everlasting  favor.  On  every  side  eyes  burned  with 
religious  zeal,  and  excited  faces  were  turned  towards 
the  Effendina.  At  a  certain  point  there  were  little 
groups  of  men  with  faces  more  set  than  excited.  They 
had  a  look  of  suppressed  expectancy.  Kaid  neared 
them,  passed  them,  and,  as  he  did  so,  they  looked  at 
each  other  in  consternation.  They  were  Sharif's  con- 
federates, fanatics  carefully  chosen.  The  attempt  on 
Kaid's  life  should  have  been  made  opposite  the  spot 
where  they  stood.  They  craned  their  necks  in  effort 
to  find  the  Christian  tent-maker,  but  in  vain. 

Suddenly  they  heard  a  cry,  a  loud  voice  calling. 
It  was  Rahib  the  tent-maker.  He  was  beside  Kaid's  stir- 
rups, but  no  weapon  was  in  his  hand;  and  his  voice  was 
calling  blessings  down  on  the  Effendina's  head  for 
having  pardoned  and  saved  from  death  his  one  remain- 
ing son,  the  joy  of  his  old  age.  In  all  the  world  there 
was  no  prince  like  Kaid,  said  the  tent-maker;  none  so 
bountiful  and  merciful  and  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  men. 

419 


THE    WEAVERS 

God  grant  him  everlasting  days,  the  beloved  friend  of 
his  people,  just  to  all  and  greatly  to  be  praised. 

As  the  soldiers  drove  the  old  man  away  with  kindly 
insistence — for  Kaid  had  thrown  him  a  handful  of  gold — 
Mizraim,  the  Chief  Eunuch,  laughed  wickedly.  As 
Nahoum  had  said,  the  greatest  of  all  weapons  was  the 
mocking  finger.  He  and  Mizraim  had  had  their  way 
with  the  Governor  of  the  prisons,  and  the  murderer  had 
gone  in  safety,  while  the  father  stayed  to  bless  Kaid. 
Rahib  the  tent-maker  had  fooled  the  plotters.  They 
were  had  in  derision.  They  did  not  know  that  Kaid  was 
as  innocent  as  themselves  of  having  pardoned  the  tent- 
maker's  son.  Their  moment  had  passed;  they  could 
not  overtake  it;  the  match  had  spluttered  and  gone  out 
at  the  fuel  laid  for  the  fire  of  fanaticism. 

The  morning  of  David's  departure  came.  While  yet  it 
was  dark  he  had  risen,  and  had  made  his  last  prepara- 
tions. When  he  came  into  the  open  air  and  mounted, 
it  was  not  yet  sunrise,  and  in  that  spectral  early  light, 
which  is  all  Egypt's  own,  Cairo  looked  like  some  dream- 
city  in  a  forgotten  world.  The  Mokattam  Hills  were 
like  vast,  dun  barriers  guarding  and  shutting  in  the 
ghostly  place,  and,  high  above  all,  the  minarets  of  the 
huge  mosque  upon  the  lofty  rocks  were  impalpable 
fingers  pointing  an  endless  flight.  The  very  trees  seemed 
so  little  real  and  substantial  that  they  gave  the  eye  the 
impression  that  they  might  rise  and  float  away.  The 
Nile  was  hung  with  mist,  a  trailing  cloud  unwound 
from  the  breast  of  the  Nile-mother.  At  last  the  sun 
touched  the  minarets  of  the  splendid  mosque  with  shafts 
of  light,  and  over  at  Ghizeh  and  Sakharah  the  great 
pyramids,  lifting  their  heads  from  the  wall  of  rolling 
blue  mist  below,  took  the  morning's  crimson  radiance 
with  the  dignity  of  four  thousand  years. 

On  the  deck  of  the  little  steamer  which  was  to  carry 
them  south,  David,  Ebn  Ezra,  Lacey,  and  Mahommed 

420 


THE    WEAVERS 

waited.  Presently  Kaid  came,  accompanied  by  his 
faithful  Nubians,  their  armor  glowing  in  the  first  warm 
light  of  the  rising  sun;  and  crowds  of  people,  who  had 
suddenly  emerged,  ran  shrilling  to  the  waterside  behind 
him. 

Kaid's  pale  face  had  all  last  night's  friendliness,  as  he 
bade  David  farewell  with  great  honor  and  commended 
him  to  the  care  of  Allah;  and  the  swords  of  the  Nubians 
clashed  against  their  breasts  and  on  their  shields  in 
salaam. 

But  there  was  another  farewell  to  make;  and  it 
was  made  as  David's  foot  touched  the  deck  of  the 
steamer.  Once  again  David  looked  at  Nahoum  as  he  had 
done  six  years  ago,  in  the  little  room  where  they  had 
made  their  bond  together.  There  was  the  same  straight 
look  in  Nahoum's  eyes.  Was  he  not  to  be  trusted? 
Was  it  not  his  own  duty  to  trust?  He  clasped  Nahoum's 
hand  in  farewell  and  turned  away.  But  as  he  gave  the 
signal  to  start,  and  the  vessel  began  to  move,  Nahoum 
came  back.  He  leaned  over  the  widening  space  and 
said  in  a  low  tone,  as  David  again  drew  near, — 

'There  is  still  an  account  which  should  be  settled, 
Saadat.  It  has  waited  long ;  but  God  is  with  the  patient. 
There  is  the  account  of  Foorgat  Bey!" 

The  light  fled  from  David's  eyes  and  his  heart  stopped 
beating  for  a  moment.  When  his  eyes  saw  the  shore 
again  Nahoum  was  gone  with  Kaid. 


BOOK    V 


28 


XXXV 

THE    FLIGHT    OF    THE    WOUNDED 

"  And  Mario  can  soothe  with  a  tenor  note 
The  souls  in  purgatory.". 

" Non  ti  scordar  di  mil"  The  voice  rang  out  with  pas- 
sionate, stealthy  sweetness,  finding  its  way  into  far 
recesses  of  human  feeling.  Women  of  perfect  poise,  and 
with  the  confident  look  of  luxury  and  social  fame, 
dropped  their  eyes  abstractedly  on  the  opera-glasses 
lying  in  their  laps,  or  the  programmes  they  mechanically 
fingered,  and  recalled,  they  knew  not  why — for  what 
had  it  to  do  with  this  musical  narration  of  a  tragic  Italian 
tale! — the  days  when,  in  the  first  flush  of  their  wedded 
life,  they  had  set  a  seal  of  devotion  and  loyalty  and 
love  upon  their  arms,  which,  long  ago,  had  gone  to  the 
limbo  of  lost  jewels,  with  the  chaste,  fresh  desires  of 
worshipping  hearts.  Young  egotists,  supremely  happy 
and  defiant  in  the  pride  of  the  fact  that  they  loved  each 
other,  and  that  it  mattered  little  what  the  rest  of  the 
world  enjoyed,  suffered,  and  endured — these  were  sud- 
denly arrested  in  their  buoyant  and  solitary  flight, 
and  stirred  restlessly  in  their  seats.  Old  men  whose 
days  of  work  were  over;  who  no  longer  marshalled 
their  legions,  or  moved  at  a  nod  great  ships  upon  the 
waters  in  masterful  manoeuvres ;  whose  voices  were  heard 
no  more  in  chambers  of  legislation,  lashing  partisan  feel- 
ing to  a  height  of  cruelty  or  lulling  a  storm  among  rebel-. 

425 


THE    WEAVERS 

lious  followers;  whose  intellects  no  longer  devised  vast 
schemes  of  finance,  or  applied  secrets  of  science  to  trans- 
form industry— these  heard  the  enthralling  cry  of  a  soul 
with  the  darkness  of  eternal  loss  gathering  upon  it,  and 
drew  back  within  themselves ;  for  they  too  had  cried  like 
this  one  time  or  another  in  their  lives.  Stricken,  they 
had  cried  out,  and  ambition  had  fled  away,  leaving  be- 
hind only  the  habit  of  living,  and  of  work  and  duty. 

As  Hylda,  in  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon's  box,  listened 
with  a  face  which  showed  nothing  of  what  she  felt,  and 
looking  straight  at  the  stage  before  her,  the  words  of 
a  poem  she  had  learned  but  yesterday  came  to  her  mind, 
and  wove  themselves  into  the  music  thrilling  from  the 
voice  in  the  stage  prison : 

"And  what  is  our  failure  here  but  a  triumph's  evidence 

For  the  fulness  of  the  days?     Have  we  withered  or  agonized? 
Why  else  was  the  pause  prolonged  but  that  singing  might  issue 
thence  ? 
Why  rushed  the  discords  in,  but  that  harmony  should  be 
prized?" 

"And  what  is  our  failure  here  but  a  triumph's  evi- 
dence?"    Was  it  then  so  ? 

The  long  weeks  which  had  passed  since  that  night  at 
Hamley,  when  she  had  told  Eglington  the  truth  about 
so  many  things,  had  brought  no  peace,  no  understanding, 
no  good  news  from  anywhere.  The  morning  after  she 
had  spoken  with  heart  laid  bare,  Eglington  had  essayed 
to  have  a  reconciliation ;  but  he  had  come  as  the  martyr, 
as  one  injured.  His  egotism  at  such  a  time,  joined  to 
his  attempt  to  make  light  of  things,  of  treating  what  had 
happened  as  a  mere  "moment  of  exasperation,"  as  "one 
of  those  episodes  inseparable  from  the  lives  of  the  high- 
spirited,"  only  made  her  heart  sink  and  grow  cold, 
almost  as  insensible  as  the  flesh  under  a  spray  of  ether. 
He  had  been  neither  wise  nor  patient.  She  had  not 
slept  after  that  bitter,  terrible  scene,  and  the  morning  had 
found  her  like  one  battered  by  winter  seas,  every  nerve 

426 


THE    WEAVERS 

desperately  alert  to  pain,  yet  tears  swimming  at  her 
heart  and  ready  to  spring  to  her  eyes  at  a  touch  of  the 
real  thing,  the  true  note— and  she  knew  so  well  what  the 
true  thing  was!  Their  great  moment  had  passed,  had 
left  her  withdrawn  into  herself,  firmly,  yet  without  heart 
performing  the  daily  duties  of  life,  gay  before  the  world, 
the  delightful  hostess,  the  necessary  and  graceful  figure 
at  so  many  functions. 

Even  as  Soolsby  had  done,  who  went  no  further  than 
to  tell  Eglington  his  dark  tale,  and  told  no  one  else,  with- 
holding it  from  "Our  Man";  as  Sybil  Lady  Eglington 
had  shrunk  when  she  had  been  faced  by  her  obvious 
duty,  so  Hylda  hesitated,  but  from  better  reason  than 
either.  To  do  right  in  the  matter  was  to  strike  her 
husband — it  must  be  a  blow  now,  since  her  voice  had 
failed.  To  do  right  was  to  put  in  the  ancient  home  and 
house  of  Eglington  one  whom  he — with  anger  and  with- 
out any  apparent  desire  to  have  her  altogether  for  him- 
self, all  the  riches  of  her  life  and  love — had  dared  to  say 
commanded  her  sympathy  and  interest,  not  because  he 
was  a  man  dispossessed  of  his  rights,  but  because  he  was 
a  man  possessed  of  that  to  which  he  had  no  right.  The 
insult  had  stung  her,  had  driven  her  back  into  a  reserve, 
out  of  which  she  seemed  unable  to  emerge.  How  could 
she  compel  Eglington  to  do  right  in  this  thing — do  right 
by  his  own  father's  son? 

Meanwhile,  that  father's  son  was  once  more  imperilling 
his  life,  once  more  putting  England's  prestige  in  the  bal- 
ance in  the  Soudan,  from  which  he  had  already  been 
delivered  twice  as  though  by  miracles.  Since  he  had 
gone,  months  before,  there  had  been  little  news;  but  there 
had  been  much  public  anxiety ;  and  she  knew  only  too 
well  that  there  had  been  pourparlers  with  foreign  minis- 
ters, from  which  no  action  came  safeguarding  David. 

Many  a  human  being  has  realized  the  apathy,  the 
partial  paralysis  of  the  will,  succeeding  a  great  struggle, 

427 


THE    WEAVERS 

which  has  exhausted  the  vital  forces.  Many  a  general 
who  has  fought  a  desperate  and  victorious  fight  after  a 
long  campaign,  and  amid  all  the  anxieties  and  miseries 
of  war,  has  failed  to  follow  up  his  advantage,  from  a 
sudden  lesion  of  the  power  for  action  in  him.  He  has 
stepped  from  the  iron  routine  of  daily  effort  into  a  sudden 
freedom,  and  his  faculties  have  failed  him,  the  iron  of  his 
will  has  vanished.  So  it  was  with  Hylda.  She  waited 
for  she  knew  not  what.  Was  it  some  dim  hope  that 
Eglington  might  see  the  right  as  she  saw  it  ?  That  he 
might  realize  how  unreal  was  this  life  they  were  living, 
outwardly  peaceful  and  understanding,  deluding  the 
world,  but  inwardly  a  place  of  tears  ?  How  she  dreaded  the 
night  and  its  recurrent  tears,  and  the  hours  when  she 
could  not  sleep,  and  waited  for  the  joyless  morning, 
as  one  lost  on  the  moor,  blanched  with  cold,  waits  for 
the  sunrise!  Night  after  night  at  a  certain  hour, — 
the  hour  when  she  went  to  bed  at  last  after  that  poignant 
revelation  to  Eglington — she  wept,  as  she  had  wept 
then,  heart-broken  tears  of  disappointment,  disillusion, 
loneliness;  tears  for  the  bitter  pity  of  it  all;  for  the 
wasting  and  wasted  opportunities,  for  the  common  aim 
never  understood  or  planned  together;  for  the  precious 
hours  lived  in  an  air  of  artificial  happiness  and  social 
excitement ;  for  a  perfect  understanding  missed ;  for  the 
touch  which  no  longer  thrilled. 

But  the  end  of  it  all  must  come.  She  was  looking 
frail  and  delicate,  and  her  beauty,  newly  refined,  and 
with  a  fresh  charm  as  of  mystery  or  pain,  was  touched  by 
feverishness.  An  old  impatience  once  hers  was  vanished, 
and  Kate  Heaver  would  have  given  a  month's  wages 
for  one  of  those  flashes  of  petulance  of  other  days  ever 
followed  by  a  smile.  Now  the  smile  was  all  too  often 
there,  the  patient  smile  which  comes  to  those  who  have 
suffered.  Hardness  she  felt  at  times,  where  Eglington 
was  concerned,  for  he  seemed  to  need  her  now  not  at 

428 


THE    WEAVERS 

all,  to   be    self-contained,   self-dependent — almost  arro 
gantly  so;  but  she  did  not  show  it;  and  she  was  out- 
wardly patient. 

In  his  heart  of  hearts  Eglington  believed  that  she  loved 
him,  that  her  interest  in  David  was  only  part  of  her 
idealistic  temperament — the  admiration  of  a  woman  for 
a  man  of  altruistic  aims;  but  his  hatred  of  David,  of 
what  David  was,  and  of  his  irrefutable  claims,  reacted  on 
her.  Perverseness,  and  his  unhealthy  belief  that  he 
would  master  her  in  the  end,  that  she  would  one  day 
break  down  and  come  to  him,  willing  to  take  his  view  in 
all  things,  and  to  be  his  slave — all  this  drove  him  farther 
and  farther  on  a  fatal,  ever-broadening  path. 

Success  had  spoiled  him.  He  applied  his  gifts  in  poli- 
tics, daringly  unscrupulous,  superficially  persuasive,  in- 
tellectually insinuating,  to  his  wife;  and  she,  who  had 
been  captured  once  by  all  these  things,  was  not  to  be 
captured  again.  She  knew  what  alone  could  capture 
her;  and,  as  she  sat  and  watched  the  singers  on  the 
stage  now,  the  divine  notes  of  that  searching  melody  still 
lingering  in  her  heart,  there  came  a  sudden  wonder 
whether  Eglington's  heart  could  not  be  wakened.  She 
knew  that  it  never  had  been;  that  he  had  never  known 
love,  the  transfiguring  and  reclaiming  passion.  No,  no, 
surely  it  could  not  be  too  late — her  marriage  with  him  had 
only  come  too  soon!  He  had  ridden  over  her  without 
mercy,  he  had  robbed  her  of  her  rightful  share  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  good;  he  had  never  loved  her;  but  if 
love  came  to  him,  if  he  could  but  once  realize  how  much 
there  was  of  what  he  had  missed!  If  he  did  not  save 
himself — and  her — -what  would  be  the  end?  She  felt  the 
cords  drawing  her  elsewhere;  the  lure  of  a  voice  she  had 
heard  in  an  Egyptian  garden  was  in  her  ears.  One 
night  at  Hamley,  in  an  abandonment  of  grief — life  hurt 
her  so — she  had  remembered  the  prophecy  she  had  once- 
made  that  she  would  speak  to  David,  and  that  he  would 

429 


THE    WEAVERS 

hear;  and  she  had  risen  from  her  seat,  impelled  by  a 
strange  new  feeling,  and  had  cried,  "Speak! — -speak  to 
me!"  And  as  plainly  as  she  had  ever  heard  anything 
in  her  life,  she  had  heard  his  voice  speak  to  her  a  message 
that  sank  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  her  being,  and 
she  had  been  more  patient  afterwards.  She  had  no 
doubt  whatever;  she  had  spoken  to  him,  and  he  had 
answered;  but  the  answer  was  one  which  all  the  world 
might  have  heard. 

Down  deep  in  her  nature  was  an  inalienable  loyalty, 
was  a  simple,  old-fashioned  feeling  that  "they  two,"  she 
and  Eglington,  should  cleave  unto  each  other  till  death 
should  part.  He  had  done  much  to  shatter  that  feeling; 
but  now,  as  she  listened  to  Mario's  voice,  centuries  of 
predisposition  worked  in  her,  and  a  great  pity  awoke  in 
her  heart.  Could  she  not  save  him,  win  him,  wake  him, 
cure  him  of  the  disease  of  Self? 

The  thought  brought  a  light  to  her  eyes  which  had  not 
been  there  for  many  a  day.  Out  of  the  deeps  of  her  soul 
this  mist  of  pure  selflessness  rose,  the  spirit  of  that 
idealism  which  was  the  real  cord  of  sympathy  between 
her  and  Egypt. 

Yes,  she  would,  this  once  again,  try  to  win  the  heart 
of  this  man;  and  so  reach  what  was  deeper  than  heart, 
and  so  also  give  him  that,  without  which  his  life  must 
be  a  failure  in  the  end,  as  Sybil  Eglington  had  said. 
How  often  had  those  bitter,  anguished  words  of  his 
mother  rung  in  her  ears, — "So  brilliant  and  unscrupulous , 
like  yourself,  but,  oh,  so  sure  of  winning  a  great  place  in 
the  world  .  .  .  so  calculating  and  determined  and 
ambitious.  "  They  came  to  her  now,  flashed  between 
the  eager,  solicitous  eyes  of  her  mind  and  the  scene  of  a 
perfect  and  everlasting  reconciliation  which  it  con- 
jured up — flashed  and  was  gone;  for  her  will  rose  up 
and  blurred  them  into  mist;  and  other  words  of  that 
true  palimpsest  of  Sybil  Eglington's  broken  life  came 

43o 


THE    WEAVERS 

instead:  "And  though  he  loves  me  little,  as  he  loves  you 
little,  too,  yet  he  is  my  son,  and  for  what  he  is  we  are  both 
responsible  one  way  or  another."  As  the  mother,  so  the 
wife.  She  said  to  herself  now  in  sad  paraphrase,  "And 
though  he  loves  me  little,  yet  he  is  my  husband,  and  for 
what  he  is  it  may  be  that  I  am  in  some  sense  responsible." 
Yet  he  is  my  husband!  All  that  it  was  came  to  her; 
the  closed  door,  the  drawn  blinds;  the  intimacy  which 
shut  them  away  from  all  the  world;  the  things  said 
which  can  only  be  said  without  desecration  between 
two  honest  souls  who  love  each  other;  and  that  sweet 
isolation  which  makes  marriage  a  separate  world,  with 
its  own  sacred  revelation.  This  she  had  known;  this 
had  been ;  and  though  the  image  of  the  sacred  thing  had 
been  defaced,  yet  the  shrine  was  not  destroyed. 

For  she  believed  that  each  had  kept  the  letter  of  the 
law;  that,  whatever  his  faults,  he  had  turned  his  face  to 
no  other  woman.  If  she  had  not  made  his  heart  captive 
and  drawn  him  by  an  ever-shortening  cord  of  attraction, 
yet  she  was  sure  that  none  other  had  any  influence  over 
him,  that,  as  he  had  looked  at  her  in  those  short-lived 
days  of  his  first  devotion,  he  looked  at  no  other.  The 
way  was  clear  yet.  There  was  nothing  irretrievable, 
nothing  irrevocable,  which  would  forever  stain  the 
memory  and  tarnish  the  gold  of  life  when  the  perfect  love 
should  be  minted.  Whatever  faults  of  mind  or  disposi- 
tion or  character  were  his — or  hers — there  were  no  sins 
against  the  pledges  they  had  made,  nor  the  bond  into 
which  they  had  entered.  Life  would  need  no  sponge. 
Memory  might  still  live  on  without  a  wound  or  a  cowl 
of  shame. 

It  was  all  part  of  the  music  to  which  she  listened,  and 
she  was  almost  oblivious  of  the  brilliant  throng,  the 
crowded  boxes,  or  of  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon  sitting 
near  her  strangely   still,   now   and   again  scanning   the 

431 


THE    WEAVERS 

beautiful  face  beside  her  with  a  reflective  look.  The 
Duchess  loved  the  girl — she  was  but  a  girl,  after  all — 
as  she  had  never  loved  any  of  her  sex;  it  had  come  to 
be  the  last  real  interest  of  her  life.  To  her  eyes,  dimmed 
with  much  seeing,  blurred  by  a  garish  kaleidoscope  of 
fashionable  life,  there  had  come  a  look  which  was  like 
the  ghost  of  a  look  she  had,  how  many  decades  ago! 

Presently,  as  she  saw  Hylda's  eyes  withdraw  from  the 
stage,  and  look  at  her  with  a  strange,  soft  moisture  and 
a  new  light  in  them,  she  laid  her  fan  confidently  on  her 
friend's  knee,  and  said  in  her  abrupt,  whimsical  voice, 
"You  like  it,  my  darling;  your  eyes  are  as  big  as  saucers. 
You  look  as  if  you'd  been  seeing  things,  not  things  on 
that  silly  stage,  but  what  Verdi  felt  when  he  wrote  the 
piece,  or  something  of  more  account  than  that." 

'Yes,  I've  been  seeing  things,"  Hylda  answered  with 
a  smile  which  came  from  a  new-born  purpose,  the  dream 
of  an  idealist.  "I've  been  seeing  things  that  Verdi 
did  not  see,  and  of  more  account,  too.  .  .  .  Do  you 
suppose  the  House  is  up  yet?" 

A  strange  look  flashed  into  the  Duchess's  eyes,  which 
had  been  watching  her  with  as  much  pity  as  interest. 
Hylda  had  not  been  near  the  House  of  Commons  this 
session,  though  she  had  read  the  reports  with  her  usual 
care.     She  had  shunned  the  place. 

'Why,  did  you  expect  Eglington  ? "  the  Duchess  asked 
idly,  yet  she  was  watchful,  too,  alert  for  every  movement 
in  this  life  where  the  footsteps  of  happiness  were  falling 
by  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  over  which  she  would  not 
allow  herself  to  look.  She  knew  that  Hylda  did  not 
expect  Eglington,  for  the  decision  to  come  to  the  opera 
was  taken  at  the  last  moment. 

"Of  course  not — he  doesn't  know  we  are  here.  But 
if  it  wasn't  too  late,  I  thought  I'd  go  down  and  drive 
him  home." 

The  Duchess   veiled  her  look.     Here  was  some  new 

432 


THE    WEAVERS 

development  in  the  history  which  had  been  torturing 
her  old  eyes,  which  had  given  her  and  Lord  Windlehurst 
as  many  anxious  moments  as  they  had  known  in  many 
a  day,  and  had  formed  them  into  a  vigilance  committee 
of  two,  who  waited  for  the  critical  hour  when  they  should 
be  needed. 

"We'll  go  at  once  if  you  like,"  she  replied.  "The 
opera  will  be  over  soon.  We  sent  word  to  Windlehurst 
to  join  us,  you  remember,  but  he  won't  come  now;  it's 
too  late.     So,  we'll  go,  if  you  like." 

She  half  rose,  but  the  door  of  the  box  opened,  and 
Lord  Windlehurst  looked  in  quizzically.  There  was  a 
smile  on  his  face. 

"I'm  late,  I  know;  but  you'll  forgive  me — you'll  for* 
give  me,  dear  lady,"  he  added  to  Hylda,  "for  I've  been 
listening  to  your  husband  making  a  smashing  speech 
for  a  bad  cause." 

Hylda  smiled.  "Then  I  must  go  and  congratulate 
him,"  she  answered,  and  withdrew  her  hand  from  that 
of  Lord  Windlehurst,  who  seemed  to  hold  it  longer  than 
usual,  and  pressed  it  in  a  fatherly  way. 

"I'm  afraid  the  House  is  up,"  he  rejoined,  as  Hylda 
turned  for  her  opera-cloak;  "and  I  saw  Eglington  leave 
Palace  Yard  as  I  came  away."  He  gave  a  swift,  ominous 
glance  towards  the  Duchess,  which  Hylda  caught,  and 
she  looked  at  each  keenly. 

"It's  seldom  I  sit  in  that  Peers'  Gallery,"  continued 
Windlehurst;  "I  don't  like  going  back  to  the  old  place 
much.  It  seems  empty  and  hollow.  But  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  Eglington's  fighting  speech  for  a  good  deal." 

"What  was  it  about?"  asked  Hylda  as  they  left  the 
box.  She  had  a  sudden  throb  of  the  heart.  Was  it  the 
one  great  question,  that  which  had  been  like  a  gulf  of 
lire  between  them? 

"Oh,  Turkey — the  unpardonable  Turk,"  answered 
Windlehurst.  "As  good  a  defence  of  a  bad  case  as  I 
ever  heard." 

433 


THE    WEAVERS 

'Yes,  Eglington  would  do  that  well,"  said  the  Duchess 
enigmatically,  drawing  her  cloak  around  her  and  adjust- 
ing her  hair.  Hylda  looked  at  her  sharply,  and  Lord 
Windlehurst  slyly,  but  the  Duchess  seemed  oblivious  of 
having  said  anything  out  of  the  way,  and  added,  "It's 
a  gift  seeing  all  that  can  be  said  for  a  bad  cause,  and 
saying  it,  and  so  making  the  other  side  make  their  case 
so  strong  that  the  verdict  has  to  be  just." 

"  Dear  Duchess,  it  doesn't  always  work  out  that  way," 
rejoined  Windlehurst  with  a  dry  laugh.  "Sometimes 
the  devil's  advocate  wins." 

'You  are  not  very  complimentary  to  my  husband," 
retorted  Hylda,  looking  him  in  the  eyes,  for  she  was  not 
always  sure  when  he  was  trying  to  baffle  her. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  He  hasn't  won  his  case  yet. 
He  has  only  staved  off  the  great  attack.  It's  coming — 
soon." 

'  What  is  the  great  attack  ?  What  has  the  Govern- 
ment, or  the  Foreign  Office,  done,  or  left  undone?" 

'Well,  my  dear — "  Suddenly  Lord  Windlehurst  re- 
membered himself,  stopped,  put  up  his  eye-glass,  and 
with  great  interest  seemed  to  watch  a  gay  group  of 
people  opposite;  for  the  subject  of  attack  was  Egypt  and 
the  Government's  conduct  in  not  helping  David,  in  view 
not  alone  of  his  present  danger,  but  of  the  position  of 
England  in  the  country,  on  which  depended  the  security 
of  her  highway  to  the  East.  Windlehurst  was  a  good 
actor,  and  he  had  broken  off  his  words  as  though  the 
group  he  was  now  watching  had  suddenly  claimed 
his  attention.  "Well,  well,  Duchess,"  he  said  reflec- 
tively, "I  see  a  new  nine  days' wonder  yonder."  Then, 
in  response  to  a  reminder  from  Hylda,  he  continued: 
"Ah,  yes,  the  attack!  Oh,  Persia— Persia,  and  our  feeble 
diplomacy,  my  dear  lady,  though  you  mustn't  take  that 
as  my  opinion,  opponent  as  I  am.  That's  the  charge, 
Persia — and  her  cats!" 

434 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  Duchess  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief;  for  she  knew 
what  Windlehurst  had  been  going  to  say,  and  she  shrank 
from  seeing  what  she  felt  she  would  see,  if  Egypt  and 
Claridge  Pasha's  name  were  mentioned.  That  night  at 
Hamley  had  burnt  a  thought  into  her  mind  which  she 
did  not  like.  Not  that  she  had  any  pity  for  Eglington; 
her  thought  was  all  for  this  girl  she  loved.  No  happiness 
lay  in  the  land  of  Egypt  for  her,  whatever  her  unhappi- 
ness  here;  and  she  knew  that  Hylda  must  be  more  un- 
happy still  before  she  was  ever  happy  again,  if  that  might 
be.  There  was  that  concerning  Eglington  which  Hylda 
did  not  know,  yet  which  she  must  know  one  day — and 
then!  But  why  were  Hylda's  eyes  so  much  brighter  and 
softer  and  deeper  to-night?  There  was  something  ex- 
pectant, hopeful,  brooding  in  them.  They  belonged  not  to 
the  life  moving  round  her,  but  were  shining  in  a  land  of 
their  own,  a  land  of  promise.  By  an  instinct  in  each  of 
them  they  stood  listening  for  a  moment  to  the  last  strains 
of  the  opera.     The  light  leaped  higher  in  Hylda's  eyes: 

"Beautiful!  oh,  so  beautiful!"  she  said,  her  hand 
touching  the  Duchess's  arm. 

The  Duchess  gave  the  slim,  warm  fingers  a  spasmodic 
little  squeeze.  "Yes,  darling,  beautiful,"  she  rejoined; 
and  then  the  crowd  began  to  pour  out  behind  them. 
Their  carriages  were  at  the  door.  Lord  Windlehurst  put 
Hylda  in.  'The  House  is  up,"  he  said.  'You  are  going 
on  somewhere?" 

"No — home,"  she  said,  and  smiled  into  his  old,  kind, 
questioning  eyes.     ' '  Home ! ' ' 

"Home!"  he  murmured  bitterly  as  he  turned  towards 
the  Duchess  and  her  carriage.  "Home!"  he  repeated, 
and  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Shall  I  drive  you  to  your  house? "  the  Duchess  asked. 

"No,  I'll  go  with  you  to  your  door,  and  walk  back 
to  my  cell.  Home!"  he  growled  to  the  footman,  with  a 
sardonic  note  in  the  voice. 

435 


THE    WEAVERS 

As  they  drove  away,  the  Duchess  turned  to  him 
abruptly.  "  What  did  you  mean  by  your  look  when  you 
said  you  had  seen  Eglington  drive  away  from  the 
House?" 

"Well,  my  dear  Betty,  she — -the  fly-away — drives  him 
home  now.     It  has  come  to  that." 

"To  her  home — Windlehurst,  oh,  Windlehurst!"  She 
sank  back  in  the  cushions,  and  gave  what  was  as  near  a 
sob  as  she  had  given  in  many  a  day. 

Windlehurst  took  her  hand.  "No,  not  so  bad  as  that 
yet.  She  drove  him  to  his  club.  Don't  fret,  my  dear 
Betty!" 

Home!  Hylda  watched  the  shops,  the  houses,  the 
squares,  as  she  passed  westward,  her  mind  dwelling  al- 
most happily  on  the  new  determination  to  which  she  had 
come.  It  was  not  love  that  was  moving  her,  not  love 
for  him,  but  a  deeper  thing.  He  had  brutally  killed  love 
■ — the  full  life  of  it — those  months  ago;  but  there  was  a 
deep  thing  working  in  her  which  was  as  near  nobility  as 
the  human  mind  can  feel.  Not  in  a  long  time  had  she 
neared  her  home  with  such  expectation  and  longing. 
Often  on  the  door-step  she  had  shut  her  eyes  to  the  light 
and  warmth  and  elegance  of  it,  because  of  that  which 
she  did  not  see.  Now,  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  she  saw 
its  doors  open.  It  was  possible  Eglington  might  have 
come  home  already.  Lord  Windlehurst  had  said  that 
he  had  left  the  House.  She  did  not  ask  if  he  was  in, — 
it  had  not  been  her  custom  for  a  long  time — -and  servants 
were  curious  people;  but  she  looked  at  the  hall-table. 
Yes,  there  was  a  hat  which  had  evidently  just  been 
placed  there,  and  gloves,  and  a  stick.  He  was  at  home, 
then. 

She  hurried  to  her  room,  dropped  her  opera-cloak  on 
a  chair,  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  a  little  fluttered 
and  critical,  and  then  crossed  the  hallway  to  Eglington 's 

436 


THE    WEAVERS 

bedroom.  She  listened  for  a  moment.  There  was  no 
sound.  She  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  softly,  and 
opened  it.  A  light  was  burning  low,  but  the  room  was 
empty.  It  was  as  she  thought,  he  was  in  his  study, 
where  he  spent  hours  sometimes  after  he  came  home, 
reading  official  papers.  She  went  up  the  stairs,  at  first 
swiftly,  then  more  slowly,  then  with  almost  lagging  feet. 
Why  did  she  hesitate?  Why  should  a  woman  falter  in 
going  to  her  husband — to  her  own  one  man  of  all  the 
world  ?  WTas  it  not,  should  it  not  be,  ever  the  open  door 
between  them  ?  Confidence — confidence — could  she  not 
have  it,  could  she  not  get  it  now  at  last  ?  She  had  paused ; 
but  now  she  moved  on  with  quicker  step,  purpose  in  her 
face,  her  eyes  softly  lighted. 

Suddenly  she  saw  on  the  floor  an  opened  letter.  She 
picked  it  up,  and,  as  she  did  so,  involuntarily  observed 
the  writing.  Almost  mechanically  she  glanced  at  the 
contents.  Her  heart  stood  still.  The  first  words  scorched 
her  eyes. 

"Eglington — Harry,  dearest,''  it  said,  "you  shall  not  go 
to  sleep  to-night  without  a  word  from  me.  This  will  mdke 
you  think  of  me  when  ..." 

Frozen,  struck  as  by  a  mortal  blow,  Hylda  looked  at 
the  signature.  She  knew  it — the  cleverest,  the  most 
beautiful  adventuress  which  the  aristocracy  and  society 
had  produced.  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  for 
a  moment  it  seemed  that  she  must  fall.  But  she  steadied 
herself  and  walked  firmly  to  Eglington's  door.  Turning 
the  handle  softly,  she  stepped  inside. 

He  did  not  hear  her.  He  was  leaning  over  a  box  of 
papers,  and  they  rustled  loudly  under  his  hand.  He  was 
humming  to  himself  that  song  she  heard  an  hour  ago  in 
//  Trovatore,  that  song  of  passion  and  love  and  tragedy. 
It  sent  a  wave  of  fresh  feeling  over  her.  She  could  not 
go  on — could  not  face  him,  and  say  what  she  must  say. 
She  turned  and  passed  swiftly  from  the  room,  leaving 

437 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  door  open,  and  hurried  down  the  staircase.  Egling- 
ton  heard  now,  and  wheeled  round.  He  saw  the  open 
door,  listened  to  the  rustle  of  her  skirts,  knew  that  she 
had  been  there.     He  smiled,  and  said  to  himself: 

"She  came  to  me,  as  I  said  she  would.  I  shall  master 
her — -the  full  surrender,  and  then — life  will  be  easy  then." 

Hylda  hurried  down  the  staircase  to  her  room,  saw 
Kate  Heaver  waiting,  beckoned  to  her,  caught  up  her 
opera-cloak,  and  together  they  passed  down  the  staircase 
to  the  front  door.  Heaver  rang  a  bell,  a  footman  ap- 
peared, and,  at  a  word,  called  a  cab.  A  minute  later 
they  were  ready. 

"Snowdon  House,"  Hylda  said;  and  they  passed  into 
the  night. 


XXXVI 

"IS    IT    ALWAYS    SO IN    LIFE?" 

The  Duchess  and  her  brother,  an  ex-diplomatist,  now 
deaf  and  patiently  amiable  and  garrulous,  had  met  on 
the  door-step  of  Snowdon  House,  and  together  they  in- 
sisted on  Lord  Windlehurst  coming  in  for  a  talk.  The 
two  men  had  not  met  for  a  long  time,  and  the  retired 
official  had  been  one  of  Lord  Windlehurst's  own  best  ap- 
pointments in  other  days.  The  Duchess  had  the  car- 
riage wait  in  consequence. 

The  ex-official  could  hear  little,  but  he  had  cultivated 
the  habit  of  talking  constantly  and  well.  There  were 
some  voices,  however,  which  he  could  hear  more  dis- 
tinctly than  others,  and  Lord  Windlehurst's  was  one  of 
them,  clear,  well-modulated,  and  penetrating.  Sipping 
brandy  and  water,  Lord  Windlehurst  gave  his  latest 
quip.  They  were  all  laughing  heartily,  when  the  butler 
entered  the  room  and  said,  "Lady  Eglington  is  here, 
and  wishes  to  see  your  grace." 

As  the  butler  left  the  room,  the  Duchess  turned  de- 
spairingly to  Windlehurst,  who  had  risen,  and  was  paler 
than  the  Duchess.  "It  has  come,"  she  said,  "oh,  it  has 
come!     I  can't  face  it." 

"Ah,  it  doesn't  matter  about  you  facing  it,"  Lord 
Windlehurst  rejoined.  "Go  to  her  and  help  her,  Betty. 
You  know  what  to  do — the  one  thing."  He  took  her 
hand  and  pressed  it. 

She  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  drew  herself 

29  439 


THE    WEAVERS 

together,  while  her  brother  watched  her  benevolently. 
He  had  not  heard  what  was  said.  Betty  had  always 
been  impulsive,  he  thought  to  himself,  and  here  was 
some  one  in  trouble — they  all  came  to  her,  and  kept 
her  poor. 

"Go  to  bed,  Dick,"  the  Duchess  said  to  him,  and 
hurried  from  the  room.  She  did  not  hesitate  now. 
Windlehurst  had  put  the  matter  in  the  right  way. 
Her  pain  was  nothing,  mere  moral  cowardice;  but 
Hylda— ! 

She  entered  the  other  room  as  quickly  as  rheumatic 
limbs  would  permit.  Hylda  stood  waiting,  erect,  her 
eyes  gazing  blankly  before  her  and  rimmed  by  dark 
circles,  her  face  haggard  and  despairing. 

Before  the  Duchess  could  reach  her,  she  said  in  a  hoarse 
whisper:  "I  have  left  him — I  have  left  him.  I  have 
come  to  you." 

With  a  cry  of  pity  the  Duchess  would  have  taken  the 
stricken  girl  in  her  arms,  but  Hylda  held  out  a  shaking 
hand  with  the  letter  in  it  which  had  brought  this  new  woe 
and  this  crisis  foreseen  by  Lord  Windlehurst.  "There — 
there  it  is.  He  goes  from  me  to  her — to  that!"  She 
thrust  the  letter  into  the  Duchess's  fingers.  'You 
knew — you  knew!  I  saw  the  look  that  passed  between 
you  and  Windlehurst  at  the  opera.  I  understand  all 
now.  He  left  the  House  of  Commons  with  her — and 
you  knew,  oh,  you  knew!  All  the  world  knows — every 
one  knew  but  me!"  She  threw  up  her  hands.  "But 
I've  left  him — I've  left  him  forever." 

Now  the  Duchess  had  her  in  her  arms,  and  almost 
forcibly  drew  her  to  a  sofa.  "Darling,  my  darling,"  she 
said,  "you  must  not  give  way.  It  is  not  so  bad  as  you 
think.    You  must  let  me  help  to  make  you  understand." 

Hylda  laughed  hysterically.  "Not  so  bad  as  I  think! 
Read  —  read  it,"  she  said,  taking  the  letter  from 
the  Duchess's    fingers  and  holding  it  before  her  face. 

440 


THE    WEAVERS 

"I  found  it  on  the  staircase.  I  could  not  help  but 
read  it." 

She  sat  and  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands  in  utter 
misery.  "Oh,  the  shame  of  it,  the  bitter  shame  of  it! 
Have  I  not  been  a  good  wife  to  him?  Have  I  not  had 
reason  to  break  my  heart?  But  I  waited,  and  I  wanted 
to  be  good  and  to  do  right.  And  to-night  I  was  going 
to  try  once  more — I  felt  it  in  the  opera.  I  was  going 
to  make  one  last  effort  for  his  sake.  It  was  for  his  sake 
I  meant  to  make  it,  for  I  thought  him  only  hard  and 
selfish,  and  that  he  had  never  loved;  and  if  he  only 
loved,  I  thought — " 

She  broke  off,  wringing  her  hands  and  staring  into 
space,  the  ghost  of  the  beautiful  figure  that  had  left  the 
Opera  House  with  shining  eyes. 

The  Duchess  caught  the  cold  hands.  "Yes,  yes,  dar- 
ling, I  know.  I  understand.  So  does  Windlehurst.  He 
loves  you  as  much  as  I  do.  We  know  there  isn't  much 
to  be  got  out  of  life;  but  we  always  hoped  you  would 
get  more  than  anybody  else." 

Hylda  shrank,  then  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  the 
Duchess  with  an  infinite  pathos.  "  Oh,  is  it  always  so — 
in  life?  Is  no  one  true?  Is  every  one  betrayed  some- 
time? I  would  die — oh,  yes,  a  thousand  times  yes,  I 
would  rather  die  than  bear  this!  What  do  I  care  for  life? 
— it  has  cheated  me!  I  meant  well,  and  I  tried  to  do 
well,  and  I  was  true  to  him  in  word  and  deed  even  when 
I  suffered  most,  even  when — " 

The  Duchess  laid  a  cheek  against  the  burning  head. 
"I  understand,  my  own  dear.  I  understand — alto- 
gether." 

"Oh,  you  cannot  know,"  the  broken  girl  replied;  "but 
through  everything  I  was  true — and  I  have  been  tempted, 
too,  when  my  heart  was  aching  so,  when  the  days  were  so 
empty,  the  nights  so  long,  and  my  heart  hurt — hurt  me. 
But  now,  it  is  over,  everything  is  done.     You  will  keep 

441 


THE    WEAVERS 

me  here — oh,  say  you  will  keep  me  here  till  everything 
can  be  settled,  and  I  can  go  away — far  away — far — !" 

She  stopped  with  a  gasping  cry,  and  her  eyes  suddenly 
strained  into  the  distance,  as  though  a  vision  of  some 
mysterious  thing  hung  before  her.  The  Duchess  rea- 
lized that  that  temptation,  which  has  come  to  so  many 
disillusioned  mortals,  to  end  it  all,  to  find  quiet  some- 
how, somewhere  out  in  the  dark,  was  upon  her.  She 
became  resourceful  and  persuasively  commanding. 

"But  no,  my  darling,"  she  said,  "you  are  going  no- 
where. Here  in  London  is  your  place  now.  And  you 
must  not  stay  here  in  my  house.  You  must  go  back  to 
your  home.  Your  place  is  there.  For  the  present,  at  any 
rate,  there  must  be  no  scandal.  Suspicion  is  nothing, 
talk  is  nothing,  and  the  world  forgets — " 

"Oh,  I  do  not  care  for  the  world  or  its  forgetting!" 
the  wounded  girl  replied.  "What  is  the  world  to  mel 
I  wanted  my  own  world,  the  world  of  my  four  walls, 
quiet  and  happy  and  free  from  scandal  and  shame. 
I  wanted  love  and  peace  there,  and  now  ....!'' 

'You  must  be  guided  by  those  who  love  you.  You 
are  too  young  to  decide  what  is  best  for  yourself.  You 
must  let  Windlehurst  and  me  think  for  you;  and, 
oh,  my  darling,  you  cannot  know  how  much  I  care  for 
your  best  good!" 

"I  cannot,  will  not,  bear  the  humiliation  and  the 
shame.     This  letter  here — you  see!" 

"  It  is  the  letter  of  a  woman  who  has  had  more  affaires 
than  any  man  in  London.  She  is  preternaturally 
clever,  my  dear — Windlehurst  would  tell  you  so.  The 
brilliant  and  unscrupulous,  the  beautiful  and  the  bad, 
have  a  great  advantage  in  this  world.  Eglington  was 
curious,  that  is  all.  It  is  in  the  breed  of  the  Eglingtons 
to  go  exploring,  to  experiment." 

Hylda  started.  Words  from  the  letter  Sybil  Lady 
Eglington  had  left  behind  her  rushed  into  her  mind,— 

442 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Experiment,  subterfuge,  secrecy.  Reaping  where  you  had 
not  sowed  and  gathering  where  you  had  not  str awed.  Always, 
experiment,  experiment,  experiment!" 

"I  have  only  been  married  three  years,"  she  moaned. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  darling,  but  much  may  happen  after 
three  days  of  married  life,  and  love  may  come  after 
twenty  years.     The  human  heart  is  a  strange  thing." 

"I  was  patient — I  gave  him  every  chance.  He  has 
been  false  and  shameless.     I  will  not  go  on." 

The  Duchess  pressed  both  hands  hard,  and  made  a 
last  effort,  looking  into  the  deep,  troubled  eyes  with 
her  own  grown  almost  beautiful  with  feeling — the  faded, 
world-worn  eyes. 

'You  will  go  back  to-night — at  once,"  she  said 
firmly.  "To-morrow  you  will  stay  in  bed  till  noon — 
at  any  rate,  till  I  come.  I  promise  you  that  you  shall 
not  be  treated  with  further  indignity.  Your  friends 
will  stand  by  you,  the  world  will  be  with  you,  if  you 
do  nothing  rash,  nothing  that  forces  it  to  babble  and 
scold.  But  you  must  play  its  game,  my  dearest.  I'll 
swear  that  the  worst  has  not  happened.  She  drove 
him  to  his  club,  and  after  a  man  has  had  a  triumph, 
a  woman  will  not  drive  him  to  his  club  if — my  darling, 
you  shall  trust  me!  If  there  must  be  the  great 
smash,  let  it  be  done  in  a  way  that  will  prevent  you 
being  smashed  also  in  the  world's  eyes.  You  can 
live,  and  you  will  live.  Is  there  nothing  for  you  to 
do?  Is  there  no  one  for  whom  you  would  do  some- 
thing, who  would  be  heart-broken  if  you — if  you  went 
mad  now?" 

Suddenly  a  great  change  passed  over  Hylda.  "7s 
there  no  one  for  whom  you  would  do  something?"  Just 
as  in  the  desert  a  question  like  this  had  lifted  a  man 
out  of  a  terrible  and  destroying  apathy,  so  this  searching 
appeal  roused  in  Hylda  a  memory  and  a  pledge.  "Is 
there  no  one  for  whom  you  would  do  something?"     Was 

443 


THE    WEAVERS 

life,  then,  all  over?  Was  her  own  great  grief  all?  Was 
her  bitter  shame  the  end  ? 

She  got  to  her  feet  tremblingly.  "I  will  go  back," 
she  said  slowly  and  softly.     "Yes,  I  will  go  back,  dear." 

"Windlehurst  will  take  you  home,"  the  Duchess 
rejoined  eagerly.     "My  carriage  is  at  the  door." 

A  moment  afterwards  Lord  Windlehurst  took  Hylda's 
hands  in  his  and  held  them  long.  His  old,  querulous 
eyes  were  like  lamps  of  safety ;  his  smile  had  now  none  of 
that  cynicism  with  which  he  had  aroused  and  chastened 
the  world.  The  pitiful  understanding  of  life  was  there, 
and  a  consummate  gentleness.  He  gave  her  his  arm, 
and  they  stepped  out  into  the  moonlit  night.  "So 
peaceful,  so  bright!"  he  said  looking  round. 

"I  will  come  at  noon  to-morrow,"  called  the  Duchess 
from  the  doorway. 

A  light  was  still  shining  in  Eglington's  sttady  when 
the  carriage  drove  up.  With  a  latch-key  Hylda  ad- 
mitted herself  and  her  maid. 

The  storm  had  broken,  the  flood  had  come.  The 
storm  was  over;    but  the  flood  swept  far  and  wide. 


..XXVII 

THE    FLYING    SHUTTLE 


Hour  after  hour  of  sleeplessness.  The  silver-tongued 
clock  remorselessly  tinkled  the  quarters,  and  Hylda  lay 
and  waited  for  them  with  a  hopeless,  strained  attention. 
In  vain  she  tried  devices  to  produce  that  monotony 
of  thought  which  sometimes  brings  sleep.  Again  and 
again,  as  she  felt  that  sleep  was  coming  at  last,  the 
thought  of  the  letter  she  had  found  flashed  through 
her  mind  with  words  of  fire,  and  it  seemed  as  if  there  had 
been  poured  through  every  vein  a  subtle  irritant.  Just 
such  a  surging,  thrilling  flood  she  had  felt  in  the  surgeon's 
chair  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  an  anaesthetic  had  been 
given.  But  this  wave  of  sensation  led  to  no  oblivion, 
no  last  soothing  intoxication.  Its  current  beat  against 
hef  heart  until  she  could  have  cried  out'from  the  mere 
physical  pain,  the  clamping  grip  of  her  trouble.  She 
withered  and  grew  cold  under  the  torture  of  it  all — the 
ruthless  spoliation  of  everything  which  made  life  worth 
while,  or  the  past  endurable. 

About  an  hour  after  she  had  gone  to  bed  she  heard 
Eglington's  step.  It  paused  at  her  door.  She  trembled 
with  apprehension  lest  he  should  enter.  It  was  many  a 
day  since  he  had  done  so,  but  also  she  had  not  heard  his 
step  pause  at  her  door  for  many  a  day.  She  could  not 
bear  to  face  it  all  now;  she  must  have  time  to  think,  to 
plan  her  course — the  last  course  of  all.  For  she  knew 
that  the  next  step  must  be  the  last  step  in  her  old  life 

445 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  towards  a  new  life,  whatever  that  might  be.  A  great 
sigh  of  relief  broke  from  her  as  she  heard  his  door  open 
and  shut,  and  silence  fell  on  everything,  that  palpable 
silence  which  seems  to  press  upon  the  night-watch er 
with  merciless,  smothering  weight. 

How  terribly  active  her  brain  was!  Pictures — it  was 
all  vivid  pictures,  that  awful  virzg&zatinn  of^t«iow  which, 
if  it  continues,  breaks  the  hearc  or  wrests  the  mind  from 
its  sanity.  If  only  she  did  not  see!  But  she  did  see 
Eglington  and  the  Woman  together,  saw  him  look  into 
her  eyes,  take  her  hands,  put  his  arm  round  her,  draw 
her  face  to  his!  Her  heart  seemed  as  if  it  must  burst, 
her  lips  cried  out.  With  a  great  effort  of  the  will  she 
tried  to  hide  from  these  agonies  of  the  imagination,  and 
again  she  would  approach  those  happy  confines  of  sleep, 
which  are  the  only  refuge  to  the  lacerated  heart;  and 
then  the  weapon  of  time  on  the  mantelpiece  would  clash 
on  the  shield  of  the  past,  and  she  was  wide  awake  again. 
At  last,  in  desperation,  she  got  out  of  bed,  hurried  to  the 
fireplace,  caught  the  little  sharp-tongued  recorder  in 
a  nervous  grasp,  and  stopped  it. 

As  she  was  about  to  get  into  bed  again,  she  saw  a 
pile  of  letters  lying  on  the  table  near  her  pillow.  In  her 
agitation  she  had  not  noticed  them,  and  the  devoted 
Heaver  had  not  drawn  her  attention  to  them.  Now, 
however,  with  a  strange  premonition,  she  quickly  glanced 
at  the  envelopes.  The  last  one  of  all  was  less  aristo- 
cratic-looking than  the  others;  the  paper  of  the  en- 
velope was  of  the  poorest,  and  it  had  a  foreign  look. 
She  caught  it  up  with  an  exclamation.  The  hand- 
writing was  that  of  her  cousin  Lacey. 

She  got  into  bed  with  a  mind  suddenly  swept  into  a 
new  atmosphere,  and  opened  the  flimsy  cover.  Shutting 
her  eyes,  she  lay  still  for  a  moment — still  and  vague; 
she  was  only  conscious  of  one  thing,  that  a  curtain  had 
dropped  on  the  terrible  pictures  she  had  seen,  and  that 

446 


THE    WEAVERS 

her  mind  was  in  a  comforting  quiet.  Presently  she 
roused  herself,  and  turned  the  letter  over  in  her  hand. 
It  was  not  long — was  that  because  its  news  was  bad  news? 
The  first  chronicles  of  disaster  were  usually  brief!  She 
smoothed  the  paper  out, — it  had  been  crumpled  and  was 
a  little  soiled — and  read  it  swiftly.     It  ran: 

"Dear  Lady  Cousin, — As  the  poet  says,  ' Man  is  born 
to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward,'  and  in  Egypt  the 
sparks  set  the  stacks  on  fire  oftener  than  anywhere  else, 
I  guess.  She  outclasses  Mexico  as  a  'precious  example' 
in  this  respect.  You  needn't  go  looking  for  trouble  in 
Mexico;  it's  waiting  for  you  kindly.  If  it  doesn't  find 
you  to-day,  well,  matiana.  But  here  it  comes  running 
like  a  native  to  his  cooking-pot  at  sunset  in  Ramadan. 
Well,  there  have  been  'hard  trials'  for  the  Saadat.  His 
cotton-mills  were  set  on  fire — can't  you  guess  who  did  it? 
And  now,  down  in  Cairo,  Nahoum  runs  Egypt;  for  a  mes- 
senger that  got  through  the  tribes  worrying  us  tells  us 
that  Kaid  is  sick,  and  Nahoum  the  Armenian  says, 
You  shall,  and  You  sha'n't,  now.  Which  is  another  way 
of  saying,  that  between  us  and  the  front  door  of  our 
happy  homes  there  are  rattlesnakes  that  can  sting — Na- 
houm's  arm  is  long,  and  his  traitors  are  crawling  under 
the  canvas  of  our  tents! 

"I'm  not  complaining  for  myself.  I  asked  for  what 
I've  got,  and,  dear  Lady  Cousin,  I  put  up  some  cash  for 
it,  too,  as  a  man  should.  No,  I  don't  mind  for  myself, 
fond  as  I  am  of  loafing,  sort  of  pottering  round  where 
the  streets  are  in  the  hands  of  a  pure  police;  for  I've 
seen  more,  done  more,  thought  more,  up  here,  than 
in  all  my  life  before;  and  I've  felt  a  country  heaving 
under  the  touch  of  one  of  God's  men — it  gives  you 
minutes  that  lift  you  out  of  the  dust  and  away  from  the 
crawlers.  And  I'd  do  it  all  over  a  thousand  times  for 
him,  and  for  what  I've  got  out  of  it.     I've  lived.     But, 

447 


THE    WEAVERS 

to  speak  right  out  plain,  I  don't  know  how  long  this 
machine  will  run.     There's  been  a  plant  of  the  worst 
kind.     Tribes  we  left  friendly  under  a  year  ago  are  out 
against  us;   cities  that  were   faithful   have  gone  under 
to  rebels.     Nahoum  has  sowed   the  land  with  the  tale 
that  the  Saadat  means  to  abolish  slavery,  to  take  away 
the    powers    of    the   great    sheikhs,    and    to   hand    the 
country  over  to  the  Turk.      Ebn  Ezra  Bey  has  proofs 
of  the  whole  thing,  and  now  at  last  the  Saadat   knows 
— too   late — that   his   work   has    been   spoiled    by   the 
only  man  who  could  spoil  it.      The  Saadat  knows   it, 
but  does  he  rave  and  tear  his  hair?     He  says  nothing. 
He  stands  up  like  a  rock  before  the  riot  of  treachery 
and  bad  luck  and  all  the  terrible  burden  he  has  to  carry 
here.     If  he  wasn't  a  Quaker  I'd  say  he  had  the  pride  of 
an  archangel.     You  can  bend  him,  but  you  can't  break 
him;  and  it  takes  a  lot  to  bend  him.     Men  desert,  but 
he  says  others  will  come  to  take  their  place.     And  so 
they  do.     It's  wonderful,  in  spite  of  the  holy  war  that's 
being  preached,   and  all   the  lies  about  him  sprinkled 
over  this  part  of  Africa,  how  they  all  fear  him,  and  find 
it  hard  to  be  out  on  the  war-path  against  him.     We 
should  be  gorging  the  vultures  if  he  wasn't  the  wonder 
he  is.     We  need  boats.     Does  he  sit  down  and  wring 
his   hands?     No,    he   organizes,    and   builds   them — out 
of  scraps.     Hasn't   he   enough   food   for  a   long  siege? 
He  goes  himself  to  the  tribes  that  have  stored  food  in 
their  cities,  and  haven't  yet  declared  against  him,  and 
he  puts  a  hand  on   their  hard    hearts,  and   takes   the 
sulkiness  out  of  their  eyes,  and  a  fleet  of  ghiassas  comes 
down  to  us  loaded  with  dourha.     The  defences  of  this 
place  are  nothing.     Does  he  fold  his  hands  like  a  man 
of  peace  that  he  is,  and  say,  'Thy  will  be  done'?     Not 
the    Saadat.     He    gets    two    soldier-engineers,    one    an 
Italian  who  murdered  his  wife  in   Italy  twenty  years 
ago,  and  one  a  British    officer    that  cheated   at   cards 

448 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  had  to  go,  and  we've  got  defences  that  '11  take  some 
negotiating.  That's  the  kind  of  man  he  is;  smiling 
to  cheer  others  when  their  hearts  are  in  their  boots, 
stern  like  a  commander-in-chief  when  he's  got  to  pun- 
ish, and  then  he  does  it  like  steel;  but  I've  seen  him 
afterwards  in  his  tent  with  a  face  that  looks  sixty, 
and  he's  got  to  travel  a  while  yet  before  he's  forty! 
None  of  us  dares  be  as  afraid  as  we  could  be,  because 
a  look  at  him  would  make  us  so  ashamed  we'd  have  to 
commit  suicide.  He  hopes  when  no  one  else  would 
ever  hope.  The  other  day  I  went  to  his  tent  to  wait 
for  him,  and  I  saw  his  Bible  open  on  the  table.  A 
passage  was  marked.     It  was  this: 

"  '  Behold,  I  have  taken  out  of  thy  hand  the  cup  of  trem- 
bling, even  the  dregs  of  the  cup  of  my  fury;  thou  shalt  no 
more  drink  it  again: 

'  '  But  I  will  put  it  into  the  hand  of  them  that  afflict  thee; 
which  have  said  to  thy  soul,  Bow  down,  that  we  may  go  over; 
and  thou  hast  laid  thy  body  as  the  ground,  and  as  the  street, 
to  them  that  went  over.' 

"I'd  like  to  see  Nahoum  with  that  cup  of  trembling 
in  his  hand,  and  I've  got  an  idea,  too,  that  it  will  be  there 
yet.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  never  can  believe  the 
worst  will  happen  to  the  Saadat.  Reading  those  verses 
put  hope  into  me.  That's  why  I'm  writing  to  you;  on  the 
chance  of  this  getting  through  by  a  native  who  is  stealing 
down  the  river  with  a  letter  from  the  Saadat  to  Nahoum, 
and  one  to  Kai'd,  and  one  to  the  Foreign  Minister  in 
London,  and  one  to  your  husband.  If  they  reach  the 
hands  they're  meant  for,  it  may  be  we  shall  pan  out  here 
yet.  But  there  must  be  display  of  power;  an  army  must 
be  sent,  without  delay,  to  show  the  traitors  that  the 
game  is  up.  Five  thousand  men  from  Cairo  under  a  good 
general  would  do  it.  Will  Nahoum  send  them?  Does 
Kai'd,  the  sick  man,  know?  I'm  not  banking  on  Kai'd.  I 
think  he's  on  his  last  legs.     Unless  pressure  is  put  on 

449 


THE    WEAVERS 

him,  unless  some  one  takes  him  by  the  throat  and  says, 
If  you  don't  relieve  Claridge  Pasha  and  the  people 
with  him,  you  will  go  to  the  crocodiles,  Nahoum  won't 
stir.  So,  I  am  writing  to  you.  England  can  do  it.  The 
lord,  your  husband,  can  do  it.  England  will  have  a  nasty 
stain  on  her  flag  if  she  sees  this  man  go  down  without  a 
hand  lifted  to  save  him.  He  is  worth  another  Alma  to  her 
prestige.  She  can't  afford  to  see  him  slaughtered  here, 
where  he's  fighting  the  fight  of  civilization.  You  see  right 
through  this  thing,  I  know,  and  I  don't  need  to  palaver 
any  more  about  it.  It  doesn't  matter  about  me.  I've 
had  a  lot  for  my  money,  and  I'm  no  use — or  I  wouldn't 
be,  if  anything  happened  to  the  Saadat.  No  one  would 
drop  a  knife  and  fork  at  the  breakfast-table  when  my  obit 
was  read  out — well,  yes,  there's  one,  cute  as  she  can  be, 
but  she's  lost  two  husbands  already,  and  you  can't  be  hurt 
so  bad  twice  in  the  same  place!  But  the  Saadat,  back  him, 
Hylda — I'll  call  you  that  at  this  distance.  Make  Nahoum 
move.  Send  four  or  five  thousand  men  before  the  day 
comes  when  famine  does  its  work,  and  they  draw  the 
bowstring  tight. 

"Salaam  and  salaam,  and  the  post  is  going  out,  and 
there's  nothing  in  the  morning  paper;  and,  as  Aunt 
Melissa  used  to  say,  'Well,  so  much  for  so  much!' 
One  thing  I  forgot.  I'm  lucky  to  be  writing  to  you  at  all. 
If  the  Saadat  was  an  old-fashioned  overlord,  I  shouldn't 
be  here.  I  got  into  a  bad  corner  three  days  ago  with  a  dozen 
Arabs — I'd  been  doing  a  little  work  with  a  friendly  tribe 
all  on  my  own,  and  I  almost  got  caught  by  this  loose  lot  of 
fanatics.  I  shot  three,  and  galloped  for  it.  I  knew  the 
way  through  the  mines  outside,  and  just  escaped  by  the 
skin  of  my  teeth.  Did  the  Saadat,  as  a  matter  of  disci- 
pline, have  me  shot  for  cowardice?  Cousin  Hylda,  my 
heart  was  in  my  mouth  as  I  heard  them  yelling  behind 
me — and  I  never  enjoyed  a  dinner  so  much  in  my  life! 
Would  the  Saadat  have  run  from  them?    Say,  he'd  have 

45o 


THE    WEAVERS 

stayed  and  saved  his  life,  too.    Well,  give  my  love  to  the 

girls ! 

"  Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"  Tom  Lacey. 

"  P.S. — There's  no  use  writing  to  me.  The  letter  service 

is  bad.    Send  a  few  thousand  men  by  military  parcel-post, 

prepaid,  with  some  red  seals — majors  and  colonels  from 

Aldershot  will  do.    They'll  give  the  step  to  the  Gyppies! 

Hylda  closed  her  eyes.  A  fever  had  passed  from  her 
veins.  Here  lay  her  duty  before  her— the  redemption  of 
the  pledge  she  had  made.  Whatever  her  own  sorrow, 
there  was  work  before  her ;  a  supreme  effort  must  be  made 
for  another.  Even  now  it  might  be  too  late.  She  must 
have  strength  for  what  she  meant  to  do.  She  put  the 
room  in  darkness,  and  resolutely  banished  thought  from 
her  mind. 

The  sun  had  been  up  for  hours  before  she  waked. 
Eglington  had  gone  to  the  Foreign  Office.  The  morn- 
ing papers  were  full  of  sensational  reports  concerning 
Claridge  Pasha  and  the  Soudan.  A  Times  leader  sternly 
admonished  the  Government. 


XXXVIII 

JASPER    KIMBER    SPEAKS 

That  day  the  adjournment  of  the  House  of  Commons 
was  moved  "to  call  attention  to  an  urgent  matter  of 
public  importance ' ' — the  position  of  Claridge  Pasha  in  the 
Soudan.  Flushed  with  the  success  of  last  night's  perform- 
ance, stung  by  the  attacks  of  the  Opposition  morning 
papers,  confident  in  the  big  majority  behind,  which  had 
cheered  him  a  few  hours  before,  viciously  resenting  the  let- 
ter he  had  received  from  David  that  morning,. Eglington 
returned  such  replies  to  the  questions  put  to  him,  that  a  fire 
of  angry  mutterings  came  from  the  forces  against  him. 
He  might  have  softened  the  growing  resentment  by  a 
change  of  manner,  but  his  intellectual  arrogance  had  con- 
trol of  him  for  the  moment ;  and  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
had  mastered  the  House  before,  and  he  would  do  so  now. 
Apart  from  his  deadly  antipathy  to  his  half-brother,  and 
the  gain  to  himself — to  his  credit,  the  latter  weighed  with 
him  not  so  much,  so  set  was  he  on  a  stubborn  course — if 
David  disappeared  forever,  there  was  at  bottom  a  spirit 
of  anti-expansion,  of  reaction  against  England's  world- 
wide responsibilities.  He  had  no  largeness  of  heart  or 
view  concerning  humanity.  He  had  no  inherent  great- 
ness, no  breadth  of  policy.  With  less  responsibility 
taken,  there  would  be  less  trouble,  national  and  inter- 
national— that  was  his  point  of  view;  that  had  been  his 
view  long  ago  at  the  meeting  at  Heddington;  and  his 
weak  chief  had  taken  it,  knowing  nothing  of  the  personal 
elements  behind. 

452 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  disconcerting  factor  in  the  present  bitter  question- 
ing in  the  House  was,  that  it  originated  on  his  own  side. 
It  was  Jasper  Kimber  who  had  launched  the  questions, 
who  moved  the  motion  for  adjournment.  Jasper  had 
had  a  letter  from  Kate  Heaver  that  morning  early, 
which  sent  him  to  her,  and  he  had  gone  to  the  House 
to  do  what  he  thought  to  be  his  duty.  He  did  it  boldly, 
to  the  joy  of  the  Opposition,  and  with  a  somewhat 
sullen  support  from  many  on  his  own  side.  Now  appeared 
Jasper's  own  inner  disdain  of  the  man  who  had  turned  his 
coat  for  office.  It  gave  a  lead  to  a  latent  feeling  among 
members  of  the  ministerial  party,  of  distrust,  and  of  sus- 
picion that  they  were  the  dupes  of  a  mind  of  abnormal 
cleverness  which,  at  bottom,  despised  them. 

With  flashing  eyes  and  set  lips,  vigilant  and  resourceful, 
Eglington  listened  to  Jasper  Kimber's  opening  remarks. 

By  unremitting  industry  Jasper  had  made  a  place  for 
himself  in  the  House.  The  humor  and  vitality  of  his 
speeches,  and  his  convincing  advocacy  of  the  cause  of  the 
"factory  folk,"  had  gained  him  a  hearing.  Thick-set, 
under  middle  size,  with  an  arm  like  a  giant  and  a  throat 
like  a  bull,  he  had  strong  common  sense,  and  he  gave 
the  impression  that  he  would  wear  his  heart  out  for  a 
good  friend  or  a  great  cause,  but  that  if  he  chose  to  be  an 
enemy  he  would  be  narrow,  unrelenting,  and  persistent. 
For  some  time  the  House  had  been  aware  that  he  had 
more  than  a  gift  for  criticism  of  the  Under-Secretary  for 
Foreign  Affairs. 

His  speech  began  almost  stumblingly,  his  h's  ran  loose, 
and  his  grammar  became  involved,  but  it  was  seen 
that  he  meant  business,  that  he  had  that  to  say  which 
would  give  anxiety  to  the  Government,  that  he  had  a  case 
wherein  were  the  elements  of  popular  interest  and  appeal, 
and  that  he  was  thinking  and  speaking  as  thousands  out- 
side the  House  would  think  and  speak. 

He  had  waited  for  this  day.     Indirectly  he  owed  to 

453 


THE    WEAVERS 

Claridge  Pasha  all  that  he  had  become.  The  day  in  which 
David  knocked  him  down  saw  the  depths  of  his  deg- 
radation reached,  and,  when  he  got  up,  it  was  to  start  on 
a  new  life  uncertainly,  vaguely  at  first,  but  a  new  life  for 
all  that.  He  knew,  from  a  true  source,  of  Eglington's 
personal  hatred  of  Claridge  Pasha,  though  he  did  not 
guess  their  relationship ;  and  all  his  interest  was  enlisted 
for  the  man  who  had,  as  he  knew,  urged  Kate  Heaver  to 
marry  himself — and  Kate  was  his  great  ambition  now. 
Above  and  beyond  these  personal  considerations  was  a 
real  sense  of  England's  duty  to  the  man  who  was  weav- 
ing the  destiny  of  a  new  land. 

"It  isn't  England's  business?"  he  retorted,  in  answer 
to  an  interjection  from  a  faithful  soul  behind  the  minis- 
terial Front  Bench.  "Well,  it  wasn't  the  business  of 
the  Good  Samaritan  to  help  the  man  that  had  been 
robbed  and  left  for  dead  by  the  wayside;  but  he  did 
it.  As  to  David  Claridge's  work,  some  have  said  that 
— I've  no  doubt  it's  been  said  in  the  Cabinet,  and 
it  is  the  thing  the  Under-Secretary  would  say  as 
naturally  as  he  would  flick  a  fly  from  his  boots 
— that  it's  a  generation  too  soon.  Who  knows  that? 
I  suppose  there  was  those  that  thought  John  the 
Baptist  was  baptizing  too  soon,  that  Luther  preached 
too  soon,  and  Savonarola  was  in  too  great  a  hurry,  all 
because  he  met  his  death  and  his  enemies  triumphed 
— and  Galileo  and  Hampden  and  Cromwell  and  John 
Howard  were  all  too  soon.  Who's  to  be  judge  of  that? 
God  Almighty  puts  it  into  some  men's  minds  to  work 
for  a  thing  that's  a  great,  and  maybe  an  impossible, 
thing,  so  far  as  the  success  of  the  moment  is  concerned. 
Well,  for  a  thing  that  has  got  to  be  done  some  time, 
the  seed  has  to  be  sown,  and  it's  always  sown  by  men 
like  Claridge  Pasha,  who  has  shown  millions  of  people 
— barbarians  and  half-civilized  alike — what  a  true  lover 
of  the  world  can  do.     God  knows,  I  think  he  might  have 

454 


THE    WEAVERS 

stayed  and  found  a  cause  in  England,  but  he  elected 
to  go  to  the  ravaging  Soudan,  and  he  is  England  there, 
the  best  of  it.  And  I  know  Claridge  Pasha — from  his 
youth  up  I  have  seen  him,  and  I  stand  here  to  bear 
witness  of  what  the  working-men  of  England  will  say 
to-morrow.  Right  well  the  noble  lord  yonder  knows  that 
what  I  say  is  true.  He  has  known  it  for  years.  Claridge 
Pasha  would  never  have  been  in  his  present  position, 
if  the  noble  lord  had  not  listened  to  the  enemies  of 
Claridge  Pasha  and  of  this  country,  in  preference  to 
those  who  know  and  hold  the  truth  as  I  tell  it  here 
to-day.  I  don't  know  whether  the  noble  lord  has  re- 
pented or  not;  but  I  do  say  that  his  Government  will 
rue  it,  if  his  answer  is  not  one  word — 'Intervention!' 
Mistaken,  rash  or  not,  dreamer  if  you  like,  Claridge 
Pasha  should  be  relieved  now,  and  his  policy  dis- 
cussed afterwards.  I  don't  envy  the  man  who  holds 
a  contrary  opinion;  he'll  be  ashamed  of  it  some  day. 
But" — he  pointed  towards  Eglington — "but  there  sits 
the  Minister  in  whose  hands  his  fate  has  been.  Let  us 
hope  that  this  speech  of  mine  needn't  have  been  made, 
and  that  I've  done  injustice  to  his  patriotism  and  to  the 
policy  he  will  announce." 

"A  setback,  a  sharp  setback,"  said  Lord  Windlehurst, 
in  the  Peers'  Gallery,  as  the  cheers  of  the  Opposition 
and  of  a  good  number  of  ministerialists  sounded  through 
the  Chamber.  There  were  those  on  the  Treasury 
Bench  who  saw  danger  ahead.  There  was  an  attempt 
at  a  conference,  but  Kimber's  seconder  only  said  a  half- 
dozen  words,  and  sat  down,  and  Eglington  had  to  rise 
before  any  definite  confidences  could  be  exchanged. 
One  word  only  he  heard  behind  him  as  he  got  up — 
"Temporize!"     It  came  from  the  Prime  Minister. 

Eglington  was  in  no  mood  for  temporizing.  Attack 
only  nerved  him.  He  was  a  good  and  ruthless  fighter; 
and  last  night's  intoxication  of  success  was  still  in  his 

30  455 


THE    WEAVERS 

brain.  He  did  not  temporize.  He  did  not  leave  a  way 
of  retreat  open  for  the  Prime  Minister,  who  would 
probably  wind  up  the  debate.  He  fought  with  skill, 
but  he  fought  without  gloves,  and  the  House  needed 
gentle  handling.  He  had  the  gift  of  effective  speech 
to  a  rare  degree,  and,  when  he  liked,  he  could  be  in- 
sinuating and  witty,  but  he  had  not  genuine  humor 
or  good  feeling,  and  the  House  knew  it.  In  debate 
he  was  biting,  resourceful,  and  unscrupulous.  He 
made  the  fatal  mistake  of  thinking  that  intellect  and 
gifts  of  fence,  followed  by  a  brilliant  peroration,  in 
which  he  treated  the  commonplaces  of  experienced 
minds  as  though  they  were  new  discoveries  and  he 
was  their  Columbus,  could  accomplish  anything.  He 
had  never  had  a  political  crisis,  but  one  had  come  now. 

In  his  reply  he  first  resorted  to  arguments  of  high 
politics,  historical,  informative,  and,  in  a  sense,  com- 
manding; indeed,  the  House  became  restless  under 
what  seemed  a  piece  of  intellectual  dragooning.  Signs 
of  impatience  appeared  on  his  own  side;  and,  when  he 
ventured  on  a  solemn  warning  about  hampering  ministers 
who  alone  knew  the  difficulties  of  diplomacy  and  the 
danger  of  wounding  the  susceptibilities  of  foreign  and 
friendly  countries,  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  voice 
that  said  sneeringly,   "The  kid-glove  Government!" 

Then  he  began  to  lose  place  with  the  Chamber. 
He  was  conscious  of  it,  and  shifted  his  ground,  pointing 
out  the  dangers  of  doing  what  the  other  nations  inter- 
ested in  Egypt  were  not  prepared  to  do. 

"Have  you  asked  them?  Have  you  pressed  them?" 
was  shouted  across  the  House.  Eglington  ignored  the 
interjections.  "Answer!  Answer!"  was  called  out 
angrily,  but  he  shrugged  a  shoulder  and  continued  his 
argument.  If  a  man  insisted  on  using  a  flying-machine 
before  the  principle  was  fully  mastered  and  applied 
— if  it  could  be  mastered  and  applied — it  must  not  be 

456 


THE    WEAVERS 

surprising  if  he  was  killed.  Amateurs  sometimes  took 
preposterous  risks  without  the  advice  of  the  experts. 
If  Claridge  Pasha  had  asked  the  advice  of  the  English 
Government,  or  of  any  of  the  chancelleries  of  Europe,  as 
to  his  incursions  into  the  Soudan  and  his  premature 
attempts  at  reform,  he  would  have  received  expert 
advice  that  civilization  had  not  advanced  to  that  stage 
in  this  portion  of  the  world,  which  would  warrant  his 
experiments.  It  was  all  very  well  for  one  man  to  run 
vast  risks  and  attempt  quixotic  enterprises,  but  neither 
he  nor  his  countrymen  had  any  right  to  expect  Europe 
to  embroil  itself  on  his  particular  account. 

At  this  point  he  was  met  by  angry  cries  of  dissent, 
which  did  not  come  from  the  Opposition  alone.  His 
lips  set,  he  would  not  yield.  The  Government  could 
not  hold  itself  responsible  for  Claridge  Pasha's  relief, 
nor  in  any  sense  for  his  present  position.  However, 
from  motives  of  humanity,  it  would  make  representations 
in  the  hope  that  the  Egyptian  Government  would  act; 
but  it  was  not  improbable,  in  view  of  past  experiences 
of  Claridge  Pasha,  that  he  would  extricate  himself  from 
his  present  position,  perhaps  had  done  so  already. 
Sympathy  and  sentiment  were  natural  and  proper 
manifestations  of  human  society,  but  Governments 
were,  of  necessity,  ruled  by  sterner  considerations.  The 
House  must  realize  that  the  Government  could  not  act 
as  though  it  were  wholly  a  free  agent,  or  as  if  its  every 
move  would  not  be  matched  by  another  move  on  the 
part  of  another  Power  or  Powers. 

Then  followed  a  brilliant  and  effective  appeal  to  his 
own  party  to  trust  the  Government,  to  credit  it  with 
feeling  and  with  a  due  regard  for  English  prestige  and  the 
honor  brought  to  it  by  Claridge  Pasha's  personal  qualities, 
whatever  might  be  thought  of  his  crusading  enterprises. 
The  party  must  not  fall  into  the  trap  of  playing  the 
game  of  the  Opposition.      Then  with  some  supercilious 

457 


THE    WEAVERS 

praise  of  the  "worthy  sentiments"  of  Jasper  Kimber's 
speech  and  a  curt  depreciation  of  its  reasoning,  he  de- 
clared that,  "No  Government  can  be  ruled  by  clamor. 
The  path  to  be  trodden  by  this  Government  would  be 
lighted  by  principles  of  progress  and  civilization, 
humanity  and  peace,  the  urbane  power  of  reason,  and 
the  persuasive  influence  of  just  consideration  for  the 
rights  of  others,  rather  than  the  thunder  and  the 
threat  of  the  cannon  and  the  sword!" 

He  sat  down  amid  the  cheers  of  a  large  portion  of  his 
party,  for  the  end  of  his  speech  had  been  full  of  effective 
if  meretricious  appeal.  But  the  debate  that  followed 
showed  that  the  speech  had  been  a  failure.  He  had 
not  uttered  one  warm  or  human  word  concerning 
Claridge  Pasha,  and  it  was  felt  and  said,  that  no  pledge 
had  been  given  to  ensure  the  relief  of  the  man  who 
had  caught  the  imagination  of  England. 

The  debate  was  fierce  and  prolonged.  Eglington 
would  not  agree  to  any  modification  of  his  speech,  to 
any  temporizing.  Arrogant  and  insistent,  he  had  his 
way,  and,  on  a  division,  the  Government  was  saved 
by  a  mere  handful  of  votes — votes  to  save  the  party, 
not  to  endorse  Eglington 's  speech  or  policy. 

Exasperated  and  with  jaw  set,  but  with  a  defiant 
smile,  Eglington  drove  straight  home  after  the  House 
rose.  He  found  Hylda  in  the  library  with  an  evening 
paper  in  her  hands.  She  had  read  and  reread  his  speech, 
and  had  steeled  herself  for  "the  inevitable  hour,"  to 
this  talk  which  would  decide  forever  their  fate  and 
future. 

Eglington  entered  the  room  smiling.  He  remembered 
the  incident  of  the  night  before,  when  she  came  to  his 
study  and  then  hurriedly  retreated.  He  had  been 
defiant  and  proudly  disdainful  at  the  House  and  on 
the  way  home ;  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  was  conscious 

458 


THE    WEAVERS 

of  having  failed  to  have  his  own  way ;  and,  like  such  men, 
he  wanted  assurance  that  he  could  not  err,  and  he 
wanted  sympathy.  Almost  any  one  could  have  given 
it  to  him,  and  he  had  a  temptation  to  seek  that  society 
which  was  his  the  evening  before;  but  he  remembered 
that  she  was  occupied  where  he  could  not  reach  her, 
and  here  was  Hylda,  from  whom  he  had  been  estranged, 
but  who  must  surely  have  seen  by  now  that  at  Hamley 
she  had  been  unreasonable,  and  that  she  must  trust  his 
judgment.  So  absorbed  was  he  with  self  and  the  failure 
of  his  speech,  that,  for  a  moment,  he  forgot  the  subject 
of  it  and  what  that  subject  meant  to  them  both. 

'What  do  you  think  of  my  speech,  Hylda?"  he  asked, 
as  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  "  I  see  you  have  been 
reading  it.     Is  it  a  full  report?" 

She  handed  the  paper  over.  "Quite  full,"  she  an- 
swered evenly. 

He  glanced  down  the  columns.  "Sentimentalist!" 
he  said  as  his  eye  caught  an  interjection.  "Cant!" 
he  added.  Then  he  looked  at  Hylda,  and  remembered 
once  again  on  whom  and  what  his  speech  had  been 
made.     He  saw  that  her  face  was  very  pale. 

' '  What  do  you  think  of  my  speech  ? "  he  repeated  stub- 
bornly. , 

"If  you  think  an  answer  necessary,  I  regard  it  as 
wicked  and  unpatriotic,"  she  answered  firmly. 

'Yes,  I  suppose  you  would,"  he  rejoined  bitingly. 

She  got  to  her  feet  slowly,  a  flush  passing  over  her 
face.  "If  you  think  I  would,  did  you  not  think  that  a 
great  many  other  people  would  think  so  too,  and  for  the 
same  reason?"    she  asked,  still  evenly,  but  very  slowly. 

"Not  for  the  same  reason!"  he  rejoined  in  a  low, 
savage  voice. 

"  You  do  not  treat  me  well,"  she  said,  with  a  voice 
that  betrayed  no  hurt,  no  indignation.  It  seemed  to 
state  a  fact  deliberately,  that  was  all. 

459 


THE    WEAVERS 

"No,  please,"  she  added  quickly  as  she  saw  him  rise 
to  his  feet  with  anger  trembling  at  his  lips.  "Do  not 
say  what  is  on  your  tongue  to  say.  Let  us  speak  quietly 
to-night.  It  is  better;  and  I  am  tired  of  strife,  spoken 
and  unspoken.  I  have  got  beyond  that.  But  I  want 
to  speak  of  what  you  did  to-day  in  Parliament." 

'Well,  you  have  said  it  was  wicked  and  unpatriotic," 
he  rejoined,  sitting  down  again  and  lighting  a  cigar,  in 
an  attempt  to  be  composed. 

'What  you  said  was  that;  but  I  am  concerned  with 
what  you  did.  Did  your  speech  mean  that  you  would 
not  press  the  Egyptian  government  to  relieve  Claridge 
Pasha  at  once?" 

"Is  that  the  conclusion  you  draw  from  my  words?" 
he  asked. 

'Yes;  but  I  wish  to  know  beyond  doubt  if  that  is 
what  you  mean  the  country  to  believe?" 

"It  is  what  I  mean  you  to  believe,  my  dear." 

She  shrank  from  the  last  two  words,  but  still  went  on 
quietly,  though  her  eyes  burned,  and  she  shivered.     "If 
you  mean  that  you  will  do  nothing,  it  will  ruin  you  and 
your  Government,"  she  answered.     "Kimber  was  right 
and " 

"Kimber  was  inspired  from  here,"  he  interjected 
sharply. 

She  put  her  hand  upon  herself.  "Do  you  think  I 
would  intrigue  against  you?  Do  you  think  I  would 
stoop  to  intrigue?"  she  asked,  a  hand  clasping  and  un- 
clasping a  bracelet  on  her  wrist,  her  eyes  averted,  for 
very  shame  that  he  should  think  the  thought  he  had 
uttered. 

"  It  came  from  this  house — the  influence,"  he  rejoined. 

"I  cannot  say.  It  is  possible,"  she  answered;  "but 
you  cannot  think  that  I  connive  with  my  maid  against 
you.  I  think  Kimber  has  reasons  of  his  own  for  acting 
as  he  did  to-day.     He  speaks  for  many  besides  himself; 

460 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  he  spoke  patriotically  this  afternoon.  He  did  his 
duty." 

"And  I  did  not?     Do  you  think  I  act  alone?" 

"You  did  not  do  your  duty,  and  I  think  that  you  are 
not  alone  responsible.  That  is  why  I  hope  the  Govern- 
ment will  be  influenced  by  public  feeling."  She  came 
a  step  nearer  to  him.  "I  ask  you  to  relieve  Claridge 
Pasha  at  any  cost.  He  is  your  father's  son.  If  you  do 
not,  when  all  the  truth  is  known,  you  will  find  no 
shelter  from  the  storm  that  will  break  over  you." 

"You  will  tell — the  truth?" 

"  I  do  not  knowyet  what  I  shall  do,"  she  answered.  "It 
will  depend  on  you;  but  it  is  your  duty  to  tell  the  truth, 
not  mine.  That  does  not  concern  me;  but  to  save  Clar- 
idge Pasha  does  concern  me." 

"So  I  have  known." 

Her  heart  panted  for  a  moment  with  a  wild  indigna- 
tion ;  but  she  quieted  herself,  and  answered  almost  calmly : 
"If  you  refuse  to  do  that  which  is  honorable — and 
human — then  I  shall  try  to  do  it  for  you  while  yet  I  bear 
your  name.  If  you  will  not  care  for  your  family  honor, 
then  I  shall  try  to  do  so.  If  you  will  not  do  your  duty, 
then  I  will  try  to  do  it  for  you."  She  looked  him  de- 
terminedly in  the  eyes.  "Through  you  I  have  lost 
nearly  all  I  cared  to  keep  in  the  world.  I  should  like 
to  feel  that  in  this  one  thing  you  acted  honorably." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  bursting  with  anger,  in  spite 
of  the  inward  admonition  that  much  that  he  prized  was 
in  danger,  that  any  breach  with  Hylda  would  be  dis- 
astrous. But  self-will  and  his  native  arrogance  over- 
ruled the  monitor  within,  and  he  said:  "Don't  preach 
to  me,  don't  play  the  martyr.  You  will  do  this  and 
you  will  do  that!  You  will  save  my  honor  and  the 
family  name!  You  will  relieve  Claridge  Pasha,  you 
will  do  what  Governments  choose  not  to  do;  you  will 
do  what  your  husband  chooses  not  to  do —     Well,  I  say 

461 


THE    WEAVERS 

that  you  will  do  what  your  husband  chooses  to  do,  or 
take  the  consequences!" 

"I  think  I  will  take  the  consequences,"  she  answered. 
"I  will  save  Claridge  Pasha,  if  it  is  possible.  It  is  no 
boast.  I  will  do  it,  if  it  can  be  done  at  all,  if  it  is  God's 
will  that  it  should  be  done;  and  in  doing  it  I  shall  be 
conscious  that  you  and  I  will  do  nothing  together  again 
— never!  But  that  will  not  stop  me;  it  will  make  me 
do  it,  the  last  right  thing,  before  the  end." 

She  was  so  quiet,  so  curiously  quiet.  Her  words  had 
a  strange  solemnity,  a  tragic  apathy.  What  did  it 
mean?  He  had  gone  too  far,  as  he  had  done  before. 
He  had  blundered  viciously,  as  he  had  blundered  before. 
She  spoke  again  before  he  could  collect  his  thoughts 
and  make  reply. 

"  I  did  not  ask  for  too  much,  I  think,  and  I  could  have 
forgiven  and  forgotten  all  the  hurts  you  have  given  me, 
if  it  were  not  for  one  thing.  You  have  been  unjust, 
hard,  selfish,  and  suspicious.  Suspicious — of  me!  No 
one  else  in  all  the  world  ever  thought  of  me  what  you 
have  thought.  I  have  done  all  I  could.  I  have  honor- 
ably kept  the  faith.  But  you  have  spoiled  it  all.  I 
have  no  memory  that  I  care  to  keep.  It  is  stained. 
My  eyes  can  never  bear  to  look  upon  the  past  again, 
the  past  with  you  —  never.  You  have  not  acted  like 
a  gentleman." 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room.  He  caught  her  arm. 
"You  will  wait  till  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say,"  he 
cried  in  anger,  her  last  words  had  stung  him  so,  her 
manner  was  so  pitilessly  scornful.  It  was  as  though  she 
looked  down  on  him  from  a  height.  His  old  arrogance 
fought  for  mastery  over  his  apprehension.  What  did 
she  know?  What  did  she  mean?  In  any  case  he  must 
face  it  out,  be  strong — and  merciful  and  affectionate 
afterwards. 

"Wait,  Hylda,"  he  said.     "We  must  talk  this  out." 

462 


THE    WEAVERS 

She  freed  her  arm.  "There  is  nothing  to  talk  out," 
she  answered.  "So  far  as  our  relations  are  concerned, 
all  reason  for  talk  is  gone."  She  drew  the  fatal  letter 
from  the  sash  at  her  waist.  "You  will  think  so  too  when 
you  read  this  letter  again."  She  laid  it  on  the  table 
beside  him,  and,  as  he  opened  and  glanced  at  it,  she 
left  the  room. 

He  stood  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  dumfounded. 

"Good  God!"  he  said,  and  sank  into  a  chair. 


XXXIX 

FAITH    JOURNEYS    TO    LONDON 

Faith  withdrew  her  eyes  from  Hylda's  face,  and  they 
wandered  helplessly  over  the  room.  They  saw,  yet 
did  not  see;  and  even  in  her  trouble  there  was  some 
subconscious  sense  softly  commenting  on  the  exquisite 
refinement  and  gentle  beauty  which  seemed  to  fill  the 
room;  but  the  only  definite  objects  which  the  eyes 
registered  at  the  moment  were  the  flowers  filling  every 
corner.  Hylda  had  been  lightly  adjusting  a  clump  of 
roses  when  she  entered;  and  she  had  vaguely  noticed 
how  pale  was  the  face  that  bent  over  the  flowers, 
how  pale  and  yet  how  composed — as  she  had  seen  a 
Quaker  face,  after  some  sorrow  had  passed  over  it,  and 
left  it  like  a  quiet  sea  in  the  sun,  when  wreck  and  ruin 
were  done.  It  was  only  a  swift  impression,  for  she  could 
think  of  but  one  thing,  David  and  his  safety.  She 
had  come  to  Hylda,  she  said,  because  of  Lord  Eglington's 
position,  and  she  could  not  believe  that  the  Government 
would  see  David's  work  undone  and  David  killed  by  the 
slave-dealers  of  Central  Africa. 

Hylda's  reply  had  given  her  no  hope  that  Eglington 
would  keep  the  promise  he  had  made  that  evening  long 
ago  when  her  father  had  come  upon  them  by  the  old  mill, 
and  because  of  which  promise  she  had  forgiven  Eglington 
so  much  that  was  hard  to  forgive.  Hylda  had  spoken 
with  sorrowful  decision,  and  then  this  pause  had  come,  in 
which  Faith  tried  to  gain  composure  and  strength.  There 

464 


THE    WEAVERS 

was  something  strangely  still  in  the  two  women.  From 
the  far  past,  through  Quaker  ancestors,  there  had  come 
to  Hylda  now  this  gray  mist  of  endurance  and  self-control 
and  austere  reserve.  Yet  behind  it  all,  beneath  it  all,  a 
wild  heart  was  beating. 

Presently,  as  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
Faith  dimly  apprehended  something  of  Hylda's  distress 
and  its  cause,  Hylda  leaned  over  and  spasmodically 
pressed  her  hand. 

"It  is  so,  Faith,"  she  said.  "They  will  do  nothing. 
International  influences  are  too  strong."  She  paused. 
"  The  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs  will  do  nothing; 
but  yet  we  must  hope.  Claridge  Pasha  has  saved  himself 
in  the  past ;  and  he  may  do  so  now,  even  though  it  is 
all  ten  times  worse.  Then,  there  is  another  way. 
Nahoum  Pasha  can  save  him,  if  he  can  be  saved.  And  I 
am  going  to  Egypt — to  Nahoum." 

Faith's  face  blanched.  Something  of  the  stark  truth 
swept  into  her  brain.  She  herself  had  suffered — her 
own  life  had  been  maimed,  it  had  had  its  secret 
bitterness.  Her  love  for  her  sister's  son  was  that 
of  a  mother,  sister,  friend  combined,  and  he  was  all  she 
had  in  life.  That  he  lived,  that  she  might  cherish  the 
thought  of  him  living,  was  the  one  thing  she  had;  and 
David  must  be  saved,  if  that  might  be;  but  this  girl — 
was  she  not  a  girl,  ten  years  younger  than  herself? — to  go 
to  Egypt  to  do — what?  She  herself  lived  out  of  the 
world,  but  she  knew  the  world !   To  go  to  Egypt,  and 

"Thee  will  not  go  to  Egypt.  What  can  thee  do?"  she 
pleaded ,  something  very  like  a  sob  in  her  voice.  ' '  Thee  is 
but  a  woman,  and  David  would  not  be  saved  at  such  a 
price,  and  I  would  not  have  him  saved  so.  Thee  will  not 
go.  Say  thee  will  not.  He  is  all  God  has  left  to  me  in 
life;  but  thee  to  go — ah,  no!  It  is  a  bitter  world — and 
what  could  thee  do?" 

Hylda  looked   at   her   reflectively.      Should   she   tell 

465 


THE    WEAVERS 

Faith  all,  and  take  her  to  Egypt?  No,  she  could  not  take 
her  without  telling  her  all,  and  that  was  impossible  now. 
There  might  come  a  time  when  this  wise  and  tender  soul 
might  be  taken  into  the  innermost  chambers,  when  all  the 
truth  might  be  known;  but  the  secret  of  David's  parent- 
age was  Eglington's  concern  most  of  all,  and  she  would 
not  speak  now;  and  what  was  between  Nahoum  and 
David  was  David's  concern;  and  she  had  kept  his  secret 
all  these  years.  No,  Faith  might  not  know  now,  and 
might  not  come  with  her.  On  this  mission  she  must 
go  alone. 

Hylda  rose  to  her  feet,  still  keeping  hold  of  Faith's 
hand.  "Go  back  to  Hamley  and  wait  there,"  she  said,  in 
a  colorless  voice.  'You  can  do  nothing;  it  may  be  I  can 
do  much.  Whatever  can  be  done  I  can  do,  since  Eng- 
land will  not  act.  Pray  for  his  safety.  It  is  all  you  can 
do.  It  is  given  to  some  to  work,  to  others  to  pray.  I 
must  work  now." 

She  led  Faith  towards  the  door;  she  could  not  endure 
more;  she  must  hold  herself  firm  for  the  journey  and  the 
struggle  before  her.  If  she  broke  down  now  she  could  not 
go  forward ;  and  Faith's  presence  roused  in  her  an  emotion 
almost  beyond  control. 

At  the  door  she  took  both  of  Faith's  hands  in  hers, 
and  kissed  her  cheek.  "It  is  your  place  to  stay;  you 
will  see  that  it  is  best.  Good-by,"  she  added  hurriedly, 
and  her  eyes  were  so  blurred  that  she  could  scarcely 
see  the  graceful,  demure  figure  pass  into  the  sunlit 
street. 

That  afternoon  Lord  Windlehurst  entered  the  Duchess 
of  Snowdon's  presence  hurried  and  excited.  She  started 
on  seeing  his  face. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"She  is  gone,"  he  answered.  "Our  girl  has  gone  to 
Egypt!" 

466 


THE    WEAVERS 

The  Duchess  almost  staggered  to  her  feet.  "Windle- 
hurst — gone ! ' '  she  gasped. 

"I  called  to  see  her.  Her  ladyship  had  gone  into  the 
country,  the  footman  said.  I  saw  the  butler,  a  faithful 
soul,  who  would  die — or  clean  the  area  steps — for  her! 
He  was  discreet;  but  he  knew  what  you  and  I  are  to  her. 
It  was  he  got  the  tickets — for  Marseilles  and  Egypt." 

The  Duchess  began  to  cry  silently.  Big  tears  ran 
down  a  face  from  which  the  glow  of  feeling  had  long  fled, 
but  her  eyes  were  sad  enough. 

' '  Gone — gone !    It  is  the  end ! ' '  was  all  she  could  say. 

Lord  Windlehurst  frowned,  though  his  eyes  were 
moist.  "We  must  act  at  once.  You  must  go  to  Egypt, 
Betty.  You  must  catch  her  at  Marseilles.  Her  boat  does 
not  sail  for  three  days.  She  thought  it  went  sooner,  as  it 
was  advertised  to  do.  It  is  delayed — I've  found  that  out. 
You  can  start  to-night,  and — and  save  the  situation. 
You  will  do  it,  Betty?" 

"I  will  do  anything  you  say,  as  I  have  always  done." 
She  dried  her  eyes. 

"She  is  a  good  girl.  We  must  do  all  we  can.  I'll 
arrange  everything  for  you  myself.  I've  written  this 
paragraph  to  go  into  the  papers  to-morrow  morning:  '  The 
Duchess  of  Snowdon,  accompanied  by  Lady  Eglington,  left 
London  last  night  for  the  Mediterranean  via  Calais,  to  be 
gone  for  two  months  or  more.'  That  is  simple  and  natural. 
I'll  see  Eglington.  He  must  make  no  fuss.  He  thinks  she 
has  gone  to  Hamley,  so  the  butler  says.  There,  it's  all 
clear.  Your  work  is  cut  out,  Betty,  and  I  know  you  will 
do  it  as  no  one  else  can." 

"Oh,  Windlehurst,"  she  answered,  with  a  hand  clutch- 
ing at  his  arm,  "  if  we  fail,  it  will  kill  me." 

"  If  she  fails,  it  will  kill  her,"  he  answered,  "  and  she  is 
very  young.  What  is  in  her  mind,  who  can  tell  ?  But  she 
thinks  she  can  help  Claridge  somehow.  We  must  save 
her,  Betty." 

467 


THE    WEAVERS 

"  I  used  to  think  you  had  no  real  feeling,  Windlehurst. 
You  didn't  show  it,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Ah,  that  was  because  you  had  too  much!"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  had  to  wait  till  you  had  less."  He  took  out 
his  watch. 


BOOK   VI 


XL 

HYLDA    SEEKS    NAHOUM 

It  was  as  though  she  had  gone  to  sleep  the  night  before, 
and  waked  again  upon  this  scene  unchanged,  brilliant, 
full  of  color,  a  chaos  of  decoration— confluences  of  noisy, 
garish  streams  of  life,  eddies  of  petty  labor.  Craftsmen 
crowded  one  upon  the  other  in  dark  bazaars ;  merchants 
chattered  and  haggled  on  their  benches;  hawkers  clat- 
tered and  cried  their  wares.  It  was  a  people  that  lived 
upon  the  streets,  for  all  the  houses  seemed  empty  and  for- 
saken. The  sats  ran  before  the  Pasha's  carriage,  the 
donkey-boys  shrieked  for  their  right  of  way,  a  train  of 
camels  calmly  forced  its  passage  through  the  swirling 
crowds,  supercilious  and  heavy-laden. 

It  seemed  but  yesterday  since  she  had  watched  with 
amused  eyes  the  sherbet-sellers  clanking  their  brass 
saucers,  the  carriers  streaming  the  water  from  the  bulging 
goatskins  into  the  earthen  bottles,  crying,  "Allah  be 
praised,  here  is  coolness  for  thy  throat  forever !"  the 
idle  singer  chanting  to  the  soft  kdnoon,  the  chess- 
players in  the  shade  of  a  high  wall,  lost  to  the  world,  the 
dancing-girls  with  unveiled,  shameless  faces,  posturing 
for  evil  eyes.  Nothing  had  changed  these  past  six  years. 
Yet  everything  had  changed. 

She  saw  it  all  as  in  a  dream,  for  her  mind  had  no  time 
for  reverie  or  retrospect;  it  was  set  on  one  thing  only. 

31  47i 


THE    WEAVERS 

Yet  behind  the  one  idea  possessing  her  there  was  a  sub- 
conscious self  taking  note  of  all  these  sights  and  sounds, 
and  bringing  moisture  to  her  eyes.  Passing  the  house 
which  David  had  occupied  on  that  night  when  he  and  she 
and  Nahoum  and  Mizraim  had  met,  the  mist  of  feeling 
almost  blinded  her;  for  there  at  the  gate  sat  the  bowab 
who  had  admitted  her  then,  and  with  apathetic  eyes  had 
watched  her  go,  in  the  hour  when  it  seemed  that  she  and 
David  Claridge  had  bidden  farewell  forever,  two  drift- 
wood spars  that  touched  and  parted  in  the  everlasting 
sea.  Here  again  in  the  Palace  square  were  Raid's 
Nubians  in  their  glittering  armor  as  of  silver  and  gold, 
drawn  up  as  she  had  seen  them  drawn  then,  to  be  reviewed 
by  their  overlord. 

She  swept  swiftly  through  the  streets  and  bazaars  on 
her  mission  to  Nahoum.  "Lady  Eglington"  had  asked  for 
an  interview,  and  Nahoum  had  granted  it  without  delay. 
He  did  not  associate  her  with  the  girl  for  whom  David 
Claridge  had  killed  Foorgat  Bey,  and  he  sent  his  own  car- 
riage to  bring  her  to  the  Palace.  No  time  had  been  lost, 
for  it  was  less  than  twenty-four  hours  since  she  had 
arrived  in  Cairo,  and  very  soon  she  would  know  the  worst 
or  the  best.  She  had  put  her  past  away  for  the  moment, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon  had  found  at  Marseilles  a 
silent,  determined,  yet  gentle-tongued  woman,  who 
refused  to  look  back,  or  to  discuss  anything  vital  to  her- 
self and  Eglington  until  what  she  had  come  to  Egypt  to 
do  was  accomplished.  Nor  would  she  speak  of  the  future, 
until  the  present  had  been  fully  declared  and  she  knew  the 
fate  of  David  Claridge.  In  Cairo  there  were  only  varying 
rumors:  that  he  was  still  holding  out;  that  he  was  lost; 
that  he  had  broken  through ;  that  he  was  a  prisoner — all 
without  foundation  upon  which  she  could  rely. 

As  she  neared  the  Palace  entrance,  a  female  fortune- 
teller ran  forward,  thrusting  towards  her  a  gazelle's  skin, 
filled  with  the  instruments  of  her  mystic  craft,  and  crying 

472 


THE    WEAVERS 

out:  "I  divine — I  reveal!  What  is  present  I  manifest! 
What  is  absent  I  declare!  What  is  future  I  show!  Beau- 
tiful one,  hear  me.  It  is  all  written-  To  thee  is  greatness, 
and  thy  heart's  desire.  Hear  all!  See!  Wait  for  the 
revealing.  Thou  comest  from  afar,  but  thy  fortune  is 
near.  Hear  and  see!  I  divine — I  reveal!  Beautiful  one, 
what  is  future  I  show." 

Hylda's  eyes  looked  at  the  poor  creature  eagerly, 
pathetically.  If  it  could  only  be,  if  she  could  but  see  one 
step  ahead!  If  the  veil  could  but  be  lifted!  She  dropped 
some  silver  into  the  folds  of  the  gazelle-skin  and  waved 
the  Gipsy  away.  "There  is  darkness,  it  is  all  dark, 
beautiful  one,"  cried  the  woman  after  her,  "  but  it  shall  be 
light.    I  show — I  reveal ! ' ' 

Inside  these  Palace  walls  there  was  a  revealer  of  more 
merit,  as  she  so  well  and  bitterly  knew.  He  could  raise 
the  veil — a  dark  and  dangerous  necromancer,  with  a 
flinty  heart  and  a  hand  that  had  waited  long  to  strike. 
Had  it  struck  its  last  blow  ? 

Outside  Nahoum's  door  she  had  a  moment  of  utter 
weakness,  when  her  knees  smote  together,  and  her  throat 
became  parched;  but  before  the  door  had  swung  wide 
and  her  eyes  swept  the  cool  and  shadowed  room,  she  was 
as  composed  as  on  that  night  long  ago  when  she  had 
faced  the  man  who  knew. 

Nahoum  was  standing  in  a  waiting  and  respectful  atti- 
tude as  she  entered.  He  advanced  towards  her  and  bowed 
low,  but  stopped  dumfounded,  as  he  saw  who  she  was. 
Presently  he  recovered  himself;  but  he  offered  no  further 
greeting  than  to  place  a  chair  for  her  where  her  face  was 
in  the  shadow  and  his  in  the  light — time  of  crisis  as  it 
was,  she  noticed  this  and  marvelled  at  him.  His  face  was 
as  she  had  seen  it  those  years  ago.  It  showed  no  change 
whatever.  The  eyes  looked  at  her  calmly,  openly,  with  no 
ulterior  thought  behind,  as  it  might  seem.  The  high, 
smooth  forehead,  the  full  but  firm  lips,  the  brown,  well- 

473 


THE    WEAVERS 

groomed  beard,  were  all  indicative  of  a  nature  benevolent 
and  refined.  Where  did  the  duplicity  lie?  Her  mind 
answered  its  own  question  on  the  instant:  it  lay  in  the 
brain  and  the  tongue.  Both  were  masterly  weapons,  an 
armament  so  complete  that  it  controlled  the  face  and  eyes 
and  outward  man  into  a  fair  semblance  of  honesty.  The 
tongue — she  remembered  its  insinuating  and  adroit 
power,  and  how  it  had  deceived  the  man  she  had  come 
to  try  and  save.  She  must  not  be  misled  by  it.  She  felt 
it  was  to  be  a  struggle  between  them,  and  she  must  be 
alert  and  persuasive,  and  match  him  word  for  word, 
move  for  move. 

"I  am  happy  to  welcome  you  here,  madame,"  he  said 
in  English.  "  It  is  years  since  we  met ;  yet  time  has  passed 
you  by." 

She  flushed  ever  so  slightly — compliment  from  Na- 
houm  Pasha!  Yet  she  must  not  resent  anything  to-day; 
she  must  get  what  she  came  for,  if  it  was  possible.  What 
had  Lacey  said? — "A  few  thousand  men  by  parcel-post, 
and  some  red  seals — British  officers." 

"We  meet  under  different  circumstances,"  she  replied 
meaningly.      'You  were  asking  a  great  favor  then." 

"Ah,  but  of  you,  madame?" 

"I  think  you  appealed  to  me  when  you  were  doubtful 
of  the  result." 

"Well,  madame,  it  may  be  so — but,  yes,  you  are 
right;  I  thought  you  were  Claridge  Pasha's  kins- 
woman, I  remember." 

"Excellency,  you  said  you  thought  I  was  Claridge 
Pasha's  kinswoman. " 

"And  you  are  not?"  he  asked  reflectively. 

He  did  not  understand  the  slight  change  that  passed 
over  her  face.  His  kinswoman — Claridge  Pasha's  kins- 
woman ! 

"I  was  not  his  kinswoman,"  she  answered  calmly. 
'You  came  to  ask  a  favor  then  of  Claridge  Pasha:  your 

474 


THE    WEAVERS 

life-work  to  do  under  him.  I  remember  your  words, — '/ 
can  aid  thee  in  thy  great  task.  Thou  wouldst  remake  our 
Egypt,  and  my  heart  is  with  you.  I  would  rescue,  not 
destroy.  .  .  .  I  would  labor,  but  my  master  has  taken 
away  from  me  the  anvil,  the  fire,  and  the  hammer,  and  I 
sit  without  the  door  like  an  armless  beggar. '  Those  were 
your  words,  and  Claridge  Pasha  listened  and  believed, 
and  saved  your  life  and  gave  you  work ;  and  now  again  you 
have  power  greater  than  all  others  in  Egypt." 

"Madame,  I  congratulate  you  on  a  useful  memory. 
May  it  serve  you  as  the  hill-fountain  the  garden  in  the 
city!  Those  indeed  were  my  words.  I  hear  myself  from 
your  lips,  and  yet  recognize  myself,  if  that  be  not  vanity. 
But,  madame,  why  have  you  sought  me?  What  is  it  you 
wish  to  know — to  hear  ? ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  innocently,  as  though  he  did  not  know 
her  errand;  as  though  beyond,  in  the  desert,  there  was  no 
tragedy  approaching — or  come. 

"Excellency,  you  are  aware  that  1  have  come  to  ask 
for  news  of  Claridge  Pasha. ' '  She  leaned  forward  slightly, 
but,  apart  from  her  tightly  interlaced  fingers,  it  would 
not  have  been  possible  to  know  that  she  was  under  any 
strain. 

"  You  come  to  me  instead  of  to  the  Effendina.  May  I 
ask  why,  madame?  Your  husband's  position — I  did  not 
know  you  were  Lord  Eglington's  wife — would  entitle  you 
to  the  highest  consideration." 

"I  knew  that  Nahoum  Pasha  would  have  the  whole 
knowledge,  while  the  Effendina  would  have  part  only. 
Excellency,  will  you  not  tell  me  what  news  you  have?  Is 
Claridge  Pasha  alive?" 

"Madame,  I  do  not  know.  He  is  in  the  desert,  lb- 
was  surrounded.  For  over  a  month  there  has  been  no 
word — none.  lie  is  in  danger.  His  way  by  the  river  was 
blocked.  1 1 <•  stayed  too  long.  He  might  have  escaped, 
but  he  would  insist  on  saving  the  loyal  natives,  on  re- 

47  5 


THE    WEAVERS 

maining  with  them,  since  he  could  not  bring  them  across 
the  desert ;  and  the  river  and  the  desert  are  silent.  Noth- 
ing comes  out  of  that  furnace  yonder.     Nothing  comes." 

He  bent  his  eyes  upon  her  complacently.  Her  own 
dropped.  She  could  not  bear  that  he  should  see  the 
misery  in  them. 

'  You  have  come  to  try  and  save  him,  madame.  What 
did  you  expect  to  do?  Your  Government  did  not 
strengthen  my  hands ;  your  husband  did  nothing — nothing 
that  could  make  it  possible  for  me  to  act.  There  are  many 
nations  here,  alas!  Your  husband  does  not  take  so  great 
an  interest  in  the  fate  of  Claridge  Pasha  as  yourself, 
madame." 

She  ignored  the  insult.  She  had  determined  to  endure 
everything,  if  she  might  but  induce  this  man  to  do  the 
thing  that  could  be  done — if  it  was  not  too  late.  Before 
she  could  frame  a  reply,  he  said  urbanely: 

"But  that  is  not  to  be  expected.  There  was  that 
between  Claridge  Pasha  and  yourself  which  would  induce 
you  to  do  all  you  might  do  for  him,  to  be  anxious  for  his 
welfare.  Gratitude  is  a  rare  thing — as  rare  as  the  flower 
of  the  century-aloe;  but  you  have  it,  madame." 

There  was  no  chance  to  misunderstand  him.  Foorgat 
Bey — he  knew  the  truth,  and  had  known  it  all  these 
years. 

"Excellency,"  she  said,  "if  through  me,  Claridge 
Pasha—" 

"  One  moment,  madame,"  he  interrupted,  and,  opening 
a  drawer,  took  out  a  letter.  ' '  I  think  that  what  you  would 
say  may  be  found  here,  with  much  else  that  you  will  care 
to  know.  It  is  the  last  news  of  Claridge  Pasha — a  letter 
from  him.  I  understand  all  you  would  say  to  me ;  but  he 
who  has  most  at  stake  has  said  it,  and,  if  he  failed,  do  you 
think,  madame,  that  you  could  succeed?" 

He  handed  her  the  letter  with  a  respectful  saluta- 
tion.    "In  the  hour  he  left,  madame,  he  came  to  know 

476 


THE    WEAVERS 

that  the  name  of  Foorgat  Bey  was  not  blotted  from  the 
book  of  Time,  nor  from  Fate's  reckoning." 

After  all  these  years!  Her  instinct  had  been  true, 
then,  that  night  so  long  ago.  The  hand  that  took  the 
letter  trembled  slightly  in  spite  of  her  will,  but  it 
was  not  the  disclosure  Nahoum  had  made  which 
caused  her  agitation.  This  letter  she  held  was  in  David 
Claridge's  hand,  the  first  she  had  ever  seen,  and,  maybe, 
the  last  that  he  had  ever  written,  or  that  any  one  would 
ever  see,  a  document  of  tears.  But  no,  there  were  no 
tears  in  this  letter!  As  Hylda  read  it  the  trembling 
passed  from  her  fingers,  and  a  great  thrilling  pride  pos- 
sessed her.  If  tragedy  had  come,  then  it  had  fallen 
like  a  fire  from  heaven,  not  like  a  pestilence  rising  from 
the  earth.  Here  indeed  was  that  which  justified  all 
she  had  done,  what  she  was  doing  now,  what  she  meant 
to  do  when  she  had  read  the  last  word  of  it  and  the 
firm,  clear  signature  beneath. 

"Excellency,"  the  letter  began  in  English,  "I  came 
into  the  desert  and  into  the  perils  I  find  here,  with  your 
last  words  in  my  ear,  '  There  is  the  matter  of  Foorgat  Bey.' 
The  time  you  chose  to  speak  was  chosen  well  for  your 
purpose,  but  ill  for  me.  I  could  not  turn  back,  I  must 
go  on.  Had  I  returned,  of  what  avail?  What  could 
I  do  but  say  what  I  say  here,  that  my  hand  killed 
Foorgat  Bey;  that  I  had  not  meant  to  kill  him,  though 
at  the  moment  I  struck  I  took  no  heed  whether  he  lived 
or  died.  Since  you  know  of  my  sorrowful  deed,  you  also 
know  why  Foorgat  Bey  was  struck  down.  When,  as 
I  left  the  bank  of  the  Nile,  your  words  blinded  my  eyes, 
my  mind  said  in  its  misery,  'Now,  I  see!'  The  curtains 
fell  away  from  between  you  and  me,  and  I  saw  all  that 
you  have  done  for  vengeance  and  revenge.  You  knew 
all  on  that  night  when  you  sought  your  life  of  me  and  the 
way  back  to  Raid's  forgiveness.  I  see  all  as  though  you 
spoke  it  in  my  car.     You  had  reason  to  hurt  me,  but 

477 


THE    WEAVERS 

you  had  no  reason  for  hurting  Egypt,  as  you  have  done. 
I  did  not  value  my  life,  as  you  know  well,  for  it  has  been 
flung  into  the  midst  of  dangers  for  Egypt's  sake,  how 
often!  It  was  not  cowardice  which  made  me  hide  from 
you  and  all  the  world  the  killing  of  Foorgat  Bey.  I 
desired  to  face  the  penalty,  for  did  not  my  act  deny 
all  that  I  had  held  fast  from  my  youth  up?  But  there 
was  another  concerned — a  girl,  but  a  child  in  years,  as 
innocent  and  true  a  being  as  God  has  ever  set  among 
the  dangers  of  this  life,  and,  by  her  very  innocence  and 
unsuspecting  nature,  so  much  more  in  peril  before  such 
unscrupulous  wiles  as  were  used  by  Foorgat  Bey. 

"I  have  known  you  many  years,  Nahoum,  and  dark 
and  cruel  as  your  acts  have  been  against  the  work  I 
gave  my  life  to  do,  yet  I  think  that  there  was  ever  in 
you,  too,  the  root  of  goodness.  Men  would  call  your 
acts  treacherous  if  they  knew  what  you  had  done;  and 
so  indeed  they  were;  but  yet  I  have  seen  you  do  things 
to  others — not  to  me — which  could  rise  only  from  the 
fountain  of  pure  waters.  Was  it  partly  because  I  killed 
Foorgat  and  partly  because  I  came  to  place  and  influence 
and  power,  that  you  used  me  so,  and  all  that  I  did?  Or 
was  it  the  East  at  war  with  the  West,  the  immemorial 
feud  and  foray  ? 

"This  last  I  will  believe;  for  then  it  will  seem  to  be 
something  beyond  yourself, — centuries  of  predisposition, 
the  long  stain  of  the  indelible — that  drove  you  to  those  acts 
of  matricide.  Ay,  it  is  that!  For,  Armenian  as  you  are, 
this  land  is  your  native  land,  and  in  pulling  down  what 
I  have  built  up — with  you,  Nahoum,  with  you — you 
have  plunged  the  knife  into  the  bosom  of  your  mother. 
Did  it  never  seem  to  you  that  the  work  which  you  did 
with  me  was  a  good  work — the  reduction  of  the  corvee,  the 
decrease  of  conscription,  the  lessening  of  taxes  of  the 
fellah,  the  bridges  built,  the  canals  dug,  the  seed  distrib- 
uted, the  plague  stayed,  the  better  dwellings  for  the 

478 


THE    WEAVERS 

poor  in  the  Delta,  the  destruction  of  brigandage,  the 
slow  blotting  out  of  exaction  and  tyranny  under  the 
kourbash,  the  quiet  growth  of  law  and  justice,  the  new 
industries  started — did  not  all  these  seem  good  to  you, 
as  you  served  the  land  with  me,  your  great  genius  for 
finance,  ay,  and  your  own  purse,  helping  on  the  things 
that  were  dear  to  me,  for  Egypt's  sake?  Giving  with 
one  hand  freely,  did  your  soul  not  misgive  you  when 
you  took  away  with  the  other? 

"When  you  tore  down  my  work,  you  were  tear- 
ing down  your  own;  for,  more  than  the  material  help 
I  thought  you  gave  in  planning  and  shaping  reforms, 
ay,  far  more  than  all,  was  the  feeling  in  me  which 
helped  me  over  many  a  dark  place,  that  I  had  you 
with  me,  that  I  was  not  alone.  I  trusted  you,  Na- 
houm.  A  life  for  a  life  you  might  have  had  for  the 
asking;  but  a  long  torture  and  a  daily  weaving  of  the 
web  of  treachery — that  has  taken  more  than  my 
life;  it  has  taken  your  own,  for  you  have  killed  the  best 
part  of  yourself,  that  which  you  did  with  me;  and  here 
in  an  ever-narrowing  circle  of  death  I  say  to  you  that 
you  will  die  with  me.  Power  you  have,  but  it  will 
wither  in  your  grasp.  Ka'id  will  turn  against  you;  for 
with  my  failure  will  come  a  dark  reaction  in  his  mind, 
which  feels  the  cloud  of  doom  drawing  over  it.  With- 
out me,  with  my  work  falling  about  his  ears,  he  will, 
as  he  did  so  short  a  time  ago,  turn  to  Sharif  and  High 
and  the  rest;  and  the  only  comfort  you  will  have  will 
be  that  you  destroyed  the  life  of  him  who  killed  your 
brother.  Did  you  love  your  brother?  Nay,  not  more 
than  did  I,  for  I  sent  his  soul  into  the  void,  and  I  would 
gladly  have  gone  after  it  to  ask  God  for  the  pardon  of 
all  his  sins  and  mine.  Think:  I  hid  the  truth,  but  why? 
Because  a  woman  would  suffer  an  unmerited  scandal  and 
shame.  Nothing  could  recall  Foorgat  Bey;  but  for  that 
silence  I  gave  my  life,  for  the  land  which  was  his  land. 
Do  you  betray  it,  then? 

479 


THE    WEAVERS 

"And  now,  Nahoum,  the  gulf  in  which  you  sought  to 
plunge  me  when  you  had  ruined  all  I  did  is  here  before 
me.  The  long  deception  has  nearly  done  its  work.  I 
know  from  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  what  passed  between  you. 
They  are  out  against  me — the  slave-dealers — from  Se- 
naar  to  where  I  am.  The  dominion  of  Egypt  is  over 
here.  Yet  I  could  restore  it  with  a  thousand  men  and 
a  handful  of  European  officers,  had  I  but  a  show  of 
authority  from  Cairo,  which  they  think  has  deserted  me. 

"I  am  shut  up  here  with  a  handful  of  men  who  can 
fight  and  thousands  who  cannot  fight,  and  food  grows 
scarcer,  and  my  garrison  is  worn  and  famished;  but 
each  day  I  hearten  them  with  the  hope  that  you  will 
send  me  a  thousand  men  from  Cairo.  One  steamer 
pounding  here  from  the  north  with  men  who  bring  com- 
mands from  the  Effendina,  and  those  thousands  out 
yonder  beyond  my  mines  and  moats  and  guns  will 
begin  to  melt  away.  Nahoum,  think  not  that  you  shall 
Jriumph  over  David  Claridge.  If  it  be  God's  will  that 
I  shall  die  here,  my  work  undone,  then,  smiling,  I  shall 
go  with  step  that  does  not  falter,  to  live  once  more; 
and  another  day  the  work  that  I  began  will  rise  again 
in  spite  of  you  or  any  man. 

"Nahoum,  the  killing  of  Foorgat  Bey  has  been  like 
a  cloud  upon  all  my  past.  You  know  me,  and  you 
know  I  do  not  lie.  Yet  I  do  not  grieve  that  I  hid  the 
thing — it  was  not  mine  only ;  and  if  ever  you  knew  a  good 
woman,  and  in  dark  moments  have  turned  to  her,  glad 
that  she  was  yours,  think  what  you  would  have  done  for 
her,  how  you  would  have  sheltered  her  against  aught 
that  might  injure  her,  against  those  things  women  are  not 
made  to  bear.  Then  think  that  I  hid  the  deed  for  one 
who  was  a  stranger  to  me,  whose  life  must  ever  lay  far 
from  mine,  and  see  clearly  that  I  did  it  for  a  woman's 
sake,  and  not  for  this  woman's  sake;  for  I  had  never 
seen  her  till   the  moment   I   struck   Foorgat   Bey  into 

480 


THE    WEAVERS 

silence    and    the    tomb.     Will    you    not    understand, 
Nahoum? 

'  Yonder,  I  see  the  tribes  that  harry  me.  The  great 
guns  firing  make  the  day  a  burden,  the  nights  are  ever 
fretted  by  the  dangers  of  surprise,  and  there  is  scarce 
time  to  bury  the  dead  whom  sickness  and  the  sword 
destroy.  From  the  midst  of  it  all  my  eyes  turn  to  you 
in  Cairo,  whose  forgiveness  I  ask  for  the  one  injury 
I  did  you;  while  I  pray  that  you  will  seek  pardon  for 
all  that  you  have  done  to. me  and  to  those  who  will 
pass  with  me,  if  our  circle  is  broken.  Friend,  Achmet 
the  Rope-maker  is  here  fighting  for  Egypt.  Art  thou  less, 
then,  than  Achmet?     So,  God  be  with  thee. 

"David  Claridge." 

Without  a  pause  Hylda  had  read  the  letter  from  the 
first  word  to  the  last.  She  was  too  proud  to  let  this  con- 
spirator and  traitor  see  what  David's  words  could  do  to 
her.  When  she  read  the  lines  concerning  herself,  she 
became  cold  from  head  to  foot,  but  she  knew  that 
Nahoum  never  took  his  eyes  from  her  face,  and  she  gave 
no  outward  sign  of  what  was  passing  within.  When  she 
had  finished  it,  she  folded  it  up  calmly,  her  eyes  dwelt  for 
a  moment  on  the  address  upon  the  envelope,  and  then  she 
handed  it  back  to  Nahoum  without  a  word. 

She  looked  him  in  the  eyes  and  spoke.  "  He  saved  your 
life,  he  gave  you  all  you  had  lost.  It  was  not  his  fault 
that  Prince  Kaid  chose  him  for  his  chief  counsellor.  You 
would  be  lying  where  your  brother  lies,  were  it  not  for 
Cla-ridge  Pasha." 

"  It  may  be;  but  .the  luck  was  with  me;  and  I  have  my 
way." 

She  drew  herself  together  to  say  what  was  hard  to  say. 
"Excellency,  the  man  who  was  killed  deserved  to  die. 
Only  by  lies,  only  by  subterfuge,  only  because  I  was 
curious  to  see  the  inside  of  the  Palace,  and  because  I  had 

481 


THE    WEAVERS 

known  him  in  London,  did  I,  without  a  thought  of  indis- 
cretion, give  myself  to  his  care  to  come  here.  I  was  so 
young;  I  did  not  know  life,  or  men — or  Egyptians."  The 
last  word  was  uttered  with  low  scorn. 

He  glanced  up  quickly,  and  for' the  first  time  she  saw 
a  gleam  of  malice  in  his  eyes.  She  could  not  feel  sorry  she 
had  said  it,  yet  she  must  remove  the  impression  if  pos- 
sible. 

"What  Claridge  Pasha  did,  any  man  would  have  done, 
excellency.  He  struck,  and  death  was  an  accident. 
Foorgat's  temple  struck  the  corner  of  a  pedestal.  His 
death  was  instant.  He  would  have  killed  Claridge  Pasha 
if' it  had  been  possible — he  tried  to  do  so.  But,  excel- 
lency, if  you  have  a  daughter,  if  you  ever  had  a  child, 
what  would  you  have  done  if  any  man  had " 

"In  the  East  daughters  are  more  discreet;  they  tempt 
men  less,"  he  answered  quietly,  and  fingered  the  string  of 
beads  he  carried. 

"Yet  you  would  have  done  as  Claridge  Pasha  did. 
That  it  was  your  brother  was  an  accident,  and " 

"  It  was  an  accident  that  the  penalty  must  fall  on  Clar- 
idge Pasha,  and  on  you,  madame.  I  did  not  choose  the 
objects  of  penalty.  Destiny  chose  them,  as  Destiny  chose 
Claridge  Pasha  as  the  man  who  should  supplant  me,  who 
should  attempt  to  do  these  mad  things  for  Egypt  against 
the  judgment  of  the  world — against  the  judgment  of  your 
husband.  Shall  I  have  better  judgment  than  the  chan- 
celleries of  Europe  and  England — and  Lord  Eglington?" 

"  Excellency,  you  know  what  moves  other  nations;  but 
it  is  for  Egypt  to  act  for  herself.  You  ask  me  why  I  did 
not  go  to  the  Effendina.  I  come  to  you  because  I  know 
that  you  could  circumvent  the  Effendina,  even  if  he  sent 
ten  thousand  men.    It  is  the  way  in  Egypt." 

"Madame,  you  have  insight — will  you  not  look  farther 
still,  and  see  that  however  good  Claridge  Pasha's  work 
might  be  some  day  in  the  far  future,  it  is  not  good  to-day. 

482 


THE    WEAVERS 

It  is  too  soon.  At  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century, 
perhaps.  Men  pay  the  penalty  of  their  mistakes.  A 
man's  life  " — he  watched  her  closely  with  his  wide,  benev- 
olent eyes — "is  neither  here  nor  there,  nor  a  few  thou- 
sands, in  the  destiny  of  a  nation.  A  man  who  ventures 
into  a  lion's  den  must  not  be  surprised  if  he  goes  as  Harrik 
went — ah,  perhaps  you  do  not  know  how  Harrik  went !  A 
man  who  tears  at  the  foundations  of  a  house  must  not  be 
surprised  if  the  timbers  fall  on  him  and  on  his  workmen. 
It  is  Destiny  that  Claridge  Pasha  should  be  the  slayer  of 
my  brother,  and  a  danger  to  Egypt,  and  one  whose  life  is 
so  dear  to  you,  madame.  You  would  have  it  otherwise, 
and  so  would  I,  but  we  must  take  things  as  they  are 
— and  you  see  that  letter!  It  is  seven  weeks  since  then, 
and  it  may  be  that  the  circle  has  been  broken.  Yet  it  may 
not  be  so.    The  circle  may  be  smaller,  but  not  broken. ' ' 

She  felt  how  he  was  tempting  her  from  word  to  word 
with  a  merciless  ingenuity;  yet  she  kept  to  her  purpose; 
and  however  hopeless  it  seemed,  she  would  struggle  on. 

"Excellency,"  she  said  in  a  low,  pleading  tone,  "has 
he  not  suffered  enough  ?  Has  he  not  paid  the  price  of  that 
life  which  you  would  not  bring  back  if  you  could?  No,  in 
those  places  of  your  mind  where  no  one  can  see  lies  the 
thought  that  you  would  not  bring  back  Foorgat  Bey.  It 
is  not  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth  that  has 
moved  you;  it  has  not  been  love  of  Foorgat  Bey;  it  has 
been  the  hatred  of  the  East  for  the  West.  And  yet  you 
are  a  Christian !  Has  Claridge  Pasha  not  suffered  enough, 
excellency  ?  Have  you  not  had  your  fill  of  revenge  ?  Have 
you  not  done  enough  to  hurt  a  man  whose  only  crime  was 
that  he  killed  a  man  to  save  a  woman,  and  had  not 
meant  to  kill?" 

"Yet  he  says  in  his  letter  that  the  thought  of  killing 
would  not  have  stopped  him." 

"Does  one  think  at  such  a  moment?  Did  he  think? 
There  was  no  time.    It  was  the  work  of  an  instant.    Ah, 

483 


THE    WEAVERS 

Fate  was  not  kind,  excellency!  If  it  had  been,  I 
should  have  been  permitted  to  kill  Foorgat  Bey  with  my 
own  hands." 

"I  should  have  found  it  hard  to  exact  the  penalty  from 
you,  madame." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  so  neutral  a  way  that  they 
were  enigmatical,  and  she  could  not  take  offence  or  be 
sure  of  his  meaning. 

"Think,  excellency.  Have  you  ever  known  one  so 
selfless,  so  good,  so  true?  For  humanity's  sake  would  you 
not  keep  alive  such  a  man?  If  there  were  a  feud  as 
old  as  Adam  between  your  race  and  his,  would  you  not 
before  this  life  of  sacrifice  lay  down  the  sword  and  the 
bitter  challenge  ?  He  gave  you  his  hand  in  faith  and  trust, 
because  your  God  was  his  God,  your  prophet  and  lord  his 
prophet  and  lord.  Such  faith  should  melt  your  heart. 
Can  you  not  see  that  he  tried  to  make  compensation  for 
Foorgat's  death,  by  giving  you  your  life  and  setting  you 
where  you  are  now,  with  power  to  save  or  kill  him?" 

"You  call  him  great;  yet  I  am  here  in  safety,  and  he  is 
— where  he  is !  Have  you  not  heard  of  the  strife  of  minds 
and  wills?  He  represented  the  West,  I  the  East.  He 
was  a  Christian,  so  was  I ;  the  ground  of  our  battle  was  a 
fair  one,  and — and  I  have  won!" 

'The  ground  of  battle  fair!"  she  protested  bitterly. 
"  He  did  not  know  that  there  was  strife  between  you.  He 
did  not  fight  you.  I  think  that  he  always  loved  you, 
excellency.  He  would  have  given  his  life  for  you,  if  it  had 
been  in  danger.  Is  there  in  that  letter  one  word  that  any 
man  could  wish  unwritten  when  the  world  was  all  ended 
for  all  men?  But  no,  there  was  no  strife  between  you — 
there  was  only  hatred  on  your  part.  He  was  so  much 
greater  than  you  that  you  should  feel  no  rivalry,  no  strife. 
The  sword  he  carries  cuts  as  wide  as  Time.  You  are  of  a 
petty  day  in  a  petty  land.  Your  mouth  will  soon  be 
filled  with  dust,  and  you  will  be  forgotten.     He  will 

484 


THE    WEAVERS 

live  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Excellency,  I  plead 
for  him  because  I  owe  him  so  much :  he  killed  a  man  and 
brought  upon  himself  a  lifelong  misery  for  me.  It  is  all  I 
can  do,  plead  to  you  who  know  the  truth  about  him — yes, 
you  know  the  truth — to  make  an  effort  to  save  him.  It 
may  be  too  late ;  but  yet  God  may  be  waiting  for  you  to 
lift  your  hand.  You  said  the  circle  may  be  smaller,  but  it 
may  be  unbroken  still.  Will  you  not  do  a  great  thing 
once,  and  win  a  woman's  gratitude,  and  the  thanks  of  the 
world,  by  trying  to  save  one  who  makes  us  think  better 
of  humanity?  Will  you  not  have  the  name  of  Nahoum 
Pasha  linked  with  his — with  his  who  thought  you  were 
his  friend  ?    Will  you  not  save  him  ? ' ' 

He  got  slowly  to  his  feet,  a  strange  look  in  his  eyes. 
"Your  words  are  useless.  I  will  not  save  him  for  your 
sake;  I  will  not  save  him  for  the  world's  sake;  I  will  not 
save  him " 

A  cry  of  pain  and  grief  broke  from  her,  and  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

" — I  will  not  save  him  for  any  other  sake  than  his 
own." 

He  paused.  Slowly,  as  dazed  as  though  she  had  re- 
ceived a  blow,  Hylda  raised  her  face  and  her  hands 
dropped  in  her  lap. 

' '  For  any  other  sake  than  his  own ! ' '  Her  eyes  gazed  at 
him  in  a  bewildered,  piteous  way.  What  did  he  mean? 
His  voice  seemed  to  come  from  afar  off. 

"Did  yom  think  that  you  could  save  him?  That  I 
would  listen  to  you,  if  I  did  not  listen  to  him?  No,  no, 
madame.  Not  even  did  he  conquer  me;  but  something 
greater  than  himself  within  himself,  it  conquered  me." 

She  got  to  her  feet  gasping,  her  hands  stretched  out. 
' '  Oh ,  is  it  true — is  it  true  ? ' '  she  cried. 

'The  West  has  conquered,"  he  answered. 

'  You  will  help  him — you  will  try  to  save  him  ? " 

"When,  a  month  ago,  I  read  the  letter  you  have  read, 

485 


THE    WEAVERS 

I  tried  to  save  him.  I  sent  secretly  four  thousand  men 
who  were  at  Wady  Haifa  to  relieve  him — if  it  could  be 
done ;  five  hundred  to  push  forward  on  the  quickest  of  the 
armed  steamers,  the  rest  to  follow  as  fast  as  possible.  I 
did  my  best.  That  was  a  month  ago,  and  I  am  waiting — 
waiting  and  hoping,  madame." 

Suddenly  she  broke  down.  Tears  streamed  from  her 
eyes.  She  sank  into  the  chair,  and  sobs  shook  her  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Be  patient,  be  composed,  madame,"  Nahoum  said 
gently.  "  I  have  tried  you  greatly — forgive  me.  Nay,  do 
not  weep.  I  have  hope.  We  may  hear  from  him  at  any 
moment  now,"  he  added  softly,  and  there  was  a  new  look 
in  his  wide  blue  eyes  as  they  were  bent  on  her. 


XLI 

IN    THE    LAND    OP    SHINAR 

"  Then  I  said  to  the  angel  that  talked  with  me,  Whither  do 
these  bear  the  Ephah? 

"And  he  said  unto  me,  To  build  it  an  house  in  the  land  of 
Shinar;  and  it  shall  be  established,  and  set  there  upon  her  own 
base." 

David  raised  his  head  from  the  paper  he  was  studying. 
He  looked  at  Lacey  sharply.  "And  how  many  rounds 
of  ammunition?"  he  asked. 

"Ten  thousand,  Saadat." 

"How  many  shells?"  he  continued,  making  notes 
upon  the  paper  before  him. 

"Three  hundred,  Saadat." 

"How  many  hundredweight  of  dourha?" 

"Eighty— about." 

"And  how  many  mouths  to  feed?" 

"Five  thousand." 

"  How  many  fighters  go  with  the  mouths?" 

"Nine  hundred  and  eighty — of  a  kind." 

"And  of  the  best?" 

"Well,  say,  five  hundred." 

"Thee  said  six  hundred  three  days  ago,  Lacey." 

"Sixty  were  killed  or  wounded  on  Sunday,  and  forty 
I  reckon  in  the  others,  Saadat." 

The  dark  eyes  flashed,  the  lips  set.  "The  fire  was 
sickening — they  fell  back?" 

"Well  Saadat,  they  reflected — at  the  wrong  time." 
32  487 


THE    WEAVERS 

"They  ran?" 

"Not  back — they  were  slow  in  getting  on." 

"  But  they  fought  it  out?" 

"They  had  to — root  hog,  or  die.  You  see,  Saadat, 
in  that  five  hundred  I'm  only  counting  the  invincibles, 
the  up-and-at-'ems,  the  blind-goers  that  'd  open  the  lid 
of  Hell  and  jump  in  after  the  enemy." 

The  pale  face  lighted.  "So  many!  I  would  not 
have  put  the  estimate  half  so  high.  Not  bad  for  a  dark 
race  fighting  for  they  know  not  what ! ' ' 

"They  know  that  all  right;  they  are  fighting  for  you, 
Saadat." 

David  seemed  not  to  hear.  "Five  hundred — so 
many,  and  the  enemy  so  near,  the  temptation  so  great!"  * 

"The  deserters  are  all  gone  to  Ali  Wad  Hei,  Saadat. 
For  a  month  there  have  been  only  the  deserted." 

A  hardness  crept  into  the  dark  eyes.  "Only  the 
deserted!"  He  looked  out  to  where  the  Nile  lost  itself 
in  the  northern  distance.  "I  asked  Nahoum  for  one 
thousand  men;  I  asked  England  for  the  word  which 
would  send  them.  I  asked  for  a  thousand,  but  even 
two  hundred  would  turn  the  scale — the  sign  that  the 
Inglesi  had  behind  him  Cairo  and  London.  Twenty 
weeks,  and  nothing  comes!" 

He  got  to  his  feet  slowly  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  for  a  moment,  glancing  out  occasionally 
towards  the  clump  of  palms  which  marked  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  Nile  into  the  desert  beyond  his  vision. 
At  intervals  a  cannon-shot  crashed  upon  the  rarefied 
air,  as  scores  of  thousands  had  done  for  months  past, 
torturing  to  ear  and  sense  and  nerve.  The  confused 
and  dulled  roar  of  voices  came  from  the  distance  also; 
and,  looking  out  to  the  landward  side,  David  saw  a 
series  of  movements  of  the  besieging  forces,  under  the 
Arab  leader,  Ali  Wad  Hei.  Here  a  loosely  formed  body 
of  lancers  and  light  cavalry  cantered  away  towards  the 

488 


THE    WEAVERS 

south,  converging  upon  the  Nile;  there  a  troop  of  heavy 
cavalry  in  glistening  mail  moved  nearer  to  the  northern 
defences;  and  between,  battalions  of  infantry  took  up 
new  positions,  while  batteries  of  guns  moved  nearer 
to  the  river,  curving  upon  the  palace  north  and  south. 
Suddenly  David's  eyes  flashed  fire.  He  turned  to 
Lacey  eagerly.  Lacey  was  watching  with  eyes  screwed 
up  shrewdly,   his  forehead  shining  with  sweat. 

"Saadat,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "this  isn't  the  usual 
set  of  quadrilles.  It's  the  real  thing.  They're  watch- 
ing the  river — waiting." 

"But  south!"  was  David's  laconic  response.  At  the 
same  moment  he  struck  a  gong.  An  orderly  entered. 
Giving  swift  instructions,  he  turned  to  Lacey  again. 

"Not  Cairo — Darfur,"  he  added. 

"Ebn  Ezra  Bey  coming!  Ali  Wad  Hei's  got  word 
from  up  the  Nile,  I  guess." 

David  nodded,  and  his  face  clouded.  "We  should 
have  had  word  also,"  he  said  sharply. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mahommed 
Hassan  entered,  supporting  an  Arab,  down  whose  hag- 
gard face  blood  trickled  from  a  wound  in  the  head, 
while  an  arm  hung  limp  at  his  side. 

"Behold,  Saadat — from  Ebn  Ezra  Bey,"  Mahommed 
said.     The  man  drooped  beside  him. 

David  caught  a  tin  cup  from  a  shelf,  poured  some 
liquor  into  it,  and  held  it  to  the  lips  of  the  fainting  man. 
"Drink,"  he  said.  The  man  drank  greedily,  and,  when 
he  had  finished,  gave  a  long  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "Let 
him  sit,"  David  added. 

When  the  man  was  seated  on  a  sheepskin,  the  huge 
Mahommed  squatting  behind  like  a  sentinel,  David 
questioned  him.  "What  is  thy  name — thy  news?" 
he  asked  in  Arabic. 

'I  am  called  Feroog.     I  come  from  Ebn  Ezra  Bey, 
to  whom  be  peace!"  he  answered.     "Thy  messenger, 

489 


THE    WEAVERS 

Saadat,  behold  he  died  of  hunger  and  thirst,  and  his  work 
became  mine !     Ebn  Ezra  Bey  came  by  the  river.  .  .  ." 

"He  is  near?"  asked  David  impatiently. 

"He  is  twenty  miles  away." 

"Thou  earnest  by  the  desert?" 

"By  the  desert,  Saadat,  as  Ebn  Ezra  Effendi  comes." 

"By  the  desert!  But  thou  saidst  he  came  by  the 
river." 

"Saadat,  yonder,  forty  miles  from  where  we  are, 
the  river  makes  a  great  curve.  There  the  Effendi 
landed  in  the  night  with  four  hundred  men  to  march 
hither.  But  he  commanded  that  the  boats  should  come 
on  slowly,  and  receive  the  attack  in  the  river,  while  he 
came  in  from  the  desert." 

David's  eye  flashed.  "A  great  device.  They  will  be 
here  by  midnight,  then,  perhaps?" 

"At  midnight,  Saadat,  by  the  blessing  of  God." 

"How  wert  thou  wounded?" 

"  I  came  upon  two  of  the  enemy.  They  were  mounted. 
I  fought  them.     Upon  the  horse  of  one  I  came  here." 

"The  other?" 

' '  God  is  merciful ,  Saadat.     He  is  in  the  bosom  of  God. ' ' 

"How  many  men  come  by  the  river?" 

"But  fifty,  Saadat,"  was  the  answer,  "but  they  have 
sworn  by  the  stone  in  the  Kaabah  not  to  surrender." 

"And  those  who  come  with  the  Effendi,  with  Ebn 
Ezra  Bey,  are  they  as  those  who  will  not  surrender?" 

"Half  of  them  are  so.  They  were  with  thee,  as  was 
I,  Saadat,  when  the  great  sickness  fell  upon  us,  and  were 
healed  by  thee,  and  afterwards  fought  with  thee." 

David  nodded  abstractedly,  and  motioned  to  Ma- 
hommed  to  take  the  man  away;  then  he  said  to  Lacey: 
" How  long  does  thee  think  we  can  hold  out?" 

"We  shall  have  more  men,  but  also  more  rifles  to 
fire,  and  more  mouths  to  fill,  if  Ebn  Ezra  gets  in, 
Saadat." 

490 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  nodded.  "But  with  more  rifles  to  fire  away 
your  ten  thousand  rounds" — he  tapped  the  paper  on 
the  table — "  and  eat  the  eighty  hundredweight  of  dourha, 
how  long  can  we  last?" 

"If  they  are  to  fight,  and  with  full  stomachs,  and  to 
stake  everything  on  that  one  fight,  then  we  can  last  two 
days.     No  more,  I  reckon." 

"I  make  it  one  day,"  answered  David.  "In  three 
days  we  shall  have  no  food,  and  unless  help  comes  from 
Cairo,  we  must  die  or  surrender.  It  is  not  well  to  starve 
on  the  chance  of  help  coming,  and  then  die  fighting  with 
weak  arms  and  broken  spirit.  Therefore,  we  must  fight 
to-morrow,  if  Ebn  Ezra  gets  in  to-night.  I  think  we 
shall  fight  well,"  he  added.     "You  think  so?" 

"You  are  a  born  fighter,  Saadat." 

A  shadow  fell  on  David's  face,  and  his  lips  tightened. 
"  I  was  not  born  a  fighter,  Lacey.  The  day  we  met  first 
no  man  had  ever  died  by  my  hand  or  by  my  will." 

"There  are  three  who  must  die  at  sunset — an  hour 
from  now — by  thy  will,  Saadat." 

A  startled  look  came  into  David's  face.  'Who?"  he 
asked. 

"The  Three  Pashas,  Saadat.  They  have  been  recap- 
tured." 

"Recaptured!"  rejoined  David  mechanically. 

"  Achmet  Pasha  got  them  from  under  the  very  noses  of 
the  sheikhs  before  sunrise  this  morning." 

"Achmet — Achmet  Pasha!"  A  light  came  into  David's 
face  again. 

"  You  will  keep  faith  with  Achmet,  Saadat.  He  risked 
his  life  to  get  them.  They  betrayed  you,  and  betrayed 
three  hundred  good  men  to  death.  If  they  do  not  die, 
those  who  fight  for  you  will  say  that  it  doesn't  matter 
whether  men  fight  for  you  or  betray  you,  they  get  tin- 
same  stuff  off  the  same  plate.  If  we  are  going  to  fight 
to-morrow,  it  ought  to  be  with  a  clean  bill  of  health." 

49 1 


THE    WEAVERS 

"They  served  me  well  so  long — ate  at  my  table,  fought 
with  me.  But — but  traitors  must  die,  even  as  Harrik 
died."  A  stern  look  came  into  his  face.  He  looked 
round  the  great  room  slowly.  "We  have  done  our  best," 
he  said.  "I  need  not  have  failed,  if  there  had  been  no 
treachery.   ..." 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  Nahoum!" 

David  raised  his  head.  Supreme  purpose  came  into 
his  bearing.  A  grave  smile  played  at  his  lips,  as  he 
gave  that  quick  toss  of  the  head  which  had  been  a  char- 
acteristic of  both  Eglington  and  himself.  His  eyes 
shone — a  steady,  indomitable  light.  "I  will  not  give  in. 
I  still  have  hope.  We  are  few  and  they  are  many,  but 
the  end  of  a  battle  has  never  been  sure.  We  may  not  fail 
even  now.     Help  may  come  from  Cairo  even  to-morrow." 

"Say,  somehow  you've  always  pulled  through  before, 
Saadat.  When  I've  been  most  frightened  I've  perked  up 
and  stiffened  my  backbone,  remembering  your  luck. 
I've  seen  a  blue  funk  evaporate  by  thinking  of  how 
things  always  come  your  way  just  when  the  worst  seems 
at  the  worst." 

David  smiled  as  he  caught  up  a  small  cane  and  pre- 
pared to  go.  Looking  out  of  a  window,  he  stroked  his 
thin,  clean-shaven  face  with  a  lean  finger.  Presently  a 
movement  in  the  desert  arrested  his  attention.  He  put 
a  field-glass  to  his  eyes,  and  scanned  the  field  of  opera- 
tions closely  once  more. 

"Good — good!"  he  burst  out  cheerfully.  "Achmet 
has  done  the  one  thing  possible.  The  way  to  the 
north  will  be  still  open.  He  has  flung  his  men  be- 
tween the  Nile  and  the  enemy,  and  now  the  batteries  are 
at  work!"  Opening  the  door,  they  passed  out.  "  He  has 
anticipated  my  orders,"  he  added.  "  Come,  Lacey,  it  will 
be  an  anxious  night.  The  moon  is  full,  and  Ebn  Ezra 
Bey  has  his  work  cut  out — sharp  work  for  all  of  us, 
and  .  .  ." 

492 


THE    WEAVERS 

Lacey  could  not  hear  the  rest  of  his  words  in  the  roar  of 
the  artillery.  David's  steamers  in  the  river  were  pouring 
shot  into  the  desert  where  the  enemy  lay,  and  Achmet's 
"friendlies"  and  the  Egyptians  were  making  good  their 
new  position.  As  David  and  Lacey,  fearlessly  exposing 
themselves  to  rifle  fire,  and  taking  the  shortest  and  most 
dangerous  route  to  where  Achmet  fought,  rode  swiftly 
from  the  palace,  Ebn  Ezra's  three  steamers  appeared  up 
the  river,  and  came  slowly  down  to  where  David's  gun- 
boats lay.  Their  appearance  was  greeted  by  desperate 
discharges  of  artillery  from  the  forces  under  Ali  Wad  Hei, 
who  had  received  word  of  their  coming  two  hours  before, 
and  had  accordingly  redisposed  his  attacking  forces.  But 
for  Achmet's  sharp  initiative,  the  boldness  of  the  attempt 
to  cut  off  the  way  north  and  south  would  have  succeeded, 
and  the  circle  of  fire  and  sword  would  have  been  com- 
plete. Achmet's  new  position  had  not  been  occupied  be- 
fore, for  men  were  too  few,  and  the  position  he  had  just 
left  was  now  exposed  to  attack. 

Never  since  the  siege  began  had  the  foe  shown  such 
initiative  and  audacity.  They  had  relied  on  the  pres- 
sure of  famine  and  decimation  by  sickness,  the  steady 
effects  of  sorties,  with  consequent  fatalities  and  deser- 
tions, to  bring  the  Liberator  of  the  Slaves  to  his  knees. 
Ebn  Erza  Bey  had  sought  to  keep  quiet  the  sheikhs 
far  south,  but  he  had  been  shut  up  in  Darfur  for  months, 
and  had  been  in  as  bad  a  plight  as  David.  He  had,  how- 
ever, broken  through  at  last.  His  ruse  in  leaving  the 
steamers  in  the  night  and  marching  across  the  desert  was 
as  courageous  as  it  was  perilous,  for,  if  discovered  before 
he  reached  the  beleagured  place,  nothing  could  save  his 
little  force  from  destruction.  There  was  one  way  in 
from  the  desert  to  the  walled  town,  and  it  was  through 
that  space  which  Achmet  and  his  men  had  occupied,  and 
on  which  Ali  Wad  Hei  might  now  at  any  moment  throw 
his  troops. 

49.3 


THE    WEAVERS 

David's  heart  sank  as  he  saw  the  danger.  From  the 
palace  he  had  sent  an  orderly  with  a  command  to  an 
officer  to  move  forward  and  secure  the  position,  but 
still  the  gap  was  open,  and  the  men  he  had  ordered  to 
advance  remained  where  they  were.  Every  minute  had 
its  crisis. 

As  Lacey  and  himself  left  the  town  the  misery  of  the 
place  smote  him  in  the  eyes.  Filth,  refuse,  debris  filled  the 
streets.  Sick  and  dying  men  called  to  him  from  dark 
doorways,  children  and  women  begged  for  bread,  car- 
casses lay  unburied,  vultures  hovering  above  them — his 
tireless  efforts  had  not  been  sufficient  to  cope  with  the 
daily  horrors  of  the  siege.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  hos- 
tility to  him.  Voices  called  blessings  on  him  from  dark 
doorways,  lips  blanching  in  death  commended  him  to 
Allah,  and  now  and  then  a  shrill  call  told  of  a  fighter 
who  had  been  laid  low,  but  who  had  a  spirit  still  un- 
beaten. Old  men  and  women  stood  over  their  cooking- 
pots  waiting  for  the  moment  of  sunset ;  for  it  was  Rama- 
dan, and  the  faithful  fasted  during  the  day — as  though 
every  day  was  not  a  fast! 

Sunset  was  almost  come,  as  David  left  the  city  and  gal- 
loped away  to  send  forces  to  stop  the  gap  of  danger  before 
it  was  filled  by  the  foe.  Sunset — the  Three  Pashas  were 
to  die  at  sunset!  They  were  with  Achmet,  and  in  a 
few  moments  they  would  be  dead.  As  David  and 
Lacey  rode  hard,  they  suddenly  saw  a  movement  of  men 
on  foot  at  a  distant  point  of  the  field,  and  then  a  small 
mounted  troop,  fifty  at  most,  detach  themselves  from  the 
larger  force  and,  in  close  formation,  gallop  fiercely  down 
on  the  position  which  Achmet  had  left.  David  felt  a 
shiver  of  anxiety  and  apprehension  as  he  saw  this 
sharp,  sweeping  advance.  Even  fifty  men,  well  en- 
trenched, could  hold  the  position  until  the  main  body  of 
AH  Wad  Hei's  infantry  came  on. 

They  rode  hard,  but  harder  still  rode  Ali  Wad  Hei's 

494 


THE    WEAVERS 

troop  of  daring  Arabs.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came. 
Suddenly  from  the  trenches,  which  they  had  thought 
deserted,  David  saw  jets  of  smoke  rise,  and  a  half  dozen 
of  the  advancing  troop  fell  from  their  saddles,  their 
riderless  horses  galloping  on. 

David's  heart  leaped:  Achmet  had,  then,  left  men 
behind,  hidden  from  view;  and  these  were  now  defending 
the  position.  Again  came  the  jets  of  smoke,  and  again 
more  Arabs  dropped  from  their  saddles.  But  the 
others  still  came  on.  A  thousand  feet  away  others 
fell.  Twenty-two  of  the  fifty  had  already  gone.  The 
rest  fired  their  rifles  as  they  galloped.  But  now, 
to  David's  relief,  his  own  forces,  which  should  have 
moved  half  an  hour  before,  were  coming  swiftly  down 
to  cut  off  the  approach  of  Ali  Wad  Hei's  infantry,  and 
he  turned  his  horse  upon  the  position  where  a  handful 
of  men  were  still  emptying  the  saddles  of  the  impetuous 
enemy.  But  now  all  that  were  left  of  the  fifty  were 
upon  the  trenches.  Then  came  the  flash  of  swords,  puffs 
of  smoke,  the  thrust  of  lances,  and  figures  falling  from 
the  screaming,  rearing  horses. 

Lacey's  pistol  was  in  his  hand,  David's  sword  was 
gripped  tight  as  they  rushed  upon  the  mitte.  Lacey's 
pistol  snapped,  and  an  Arab  fell;  again,  and  another 
swayed  in  his  saddle.  David's  sword  swept  down,  and 
a  turbaned  head  was  gashed  by  a  mortal  stroke.  As  he 
swung  towards  another  horseman,  who  had  struck  down 
a  defender  of  the  trenches,  an  Arab  raised  himself  in 
his  saddle  and  flung  a  lance  with  a  cry  of  terrible 
malice;  but,  even  as  he  did  so,  a  bullet  from  Lacey's  pistol 
pierced  his  shoulder.  The  shot  had  been  too  late  to 
stop  the  lance,  but  sufficient  to  divert  its  course.  It 
caught  David  in  the  flesh  of  the  body  under  the  arm — 
a  slight  wound  only.  A  few  inches  to  the  right,  however, 
and  his  day  would  have  been  done. 

The  remaining  Arabs  turned  and  fled.     The  fight  was 

495 


THE    WEAVERS 

over.  As  David,  dismounting,  stood  with  his  dripping 
sword  in  his  hand,  in  imagination  he  heard  the  voice  of 
Kaid  say  to  him,  as  it  said  that  night  when  he  killed 
Foorgat  Bey,  "  Hast  thou  ever  killed  a  man?" 

For  an  instant  it  blinded  him,  then  he  was  conscious 
that,  on  the  ground  at  his  feet,  lay  one  of  the  Three 
Pashas  who  were  to  die  at  sunset.  It  was  sunset  now, 
and  the  man  was  dead.  Another  of  the  three  sat  upon 
the  ground  winding  his  thigh  with  the  folds  of  a  dead 
Arab's  turban,  blood  streaming  from  his  gashed  face. 
The  last  of  the  trio  stood  before  David,  stoical  and 
attentive.  For  a  moment  David  looked  at  the  Three, 
the  dead  man  and  the  two  living  men,  and  then  sud- 
denly turned  to  where  the  opposing  forces  were  advanc- 
ing. His  own  men  were  now  between  the  position  and 
AH  Wad  Hei's  shouting  fanatics.  They  would  be  able 
to  reach  and  defend  the  position  in  time.  He  turned 
and  gave  orders.  There  were  only  twenty  men 
besides  the  two  pashas,  whom  his  commands  also 
comprised.  Two  small  guns  were  in  place.  He  had 
them  trained  on  that  portion  of  the  advancing  infantry 
of  Ali  Wad  Hei  not  yet  covered  by  his  own  forces. 
Years  of  work  and  responsibility  had  made  him  master 
of  many  things,  and  long  ago  he  had  learned  the  work 
of  an  artilleryman.  In  a  moment  a  shot,  well  directed, 
made  a  gap  in  the  ranks  of  the  advancing  foe.  An  instant 
afterwards  a  shot  from  the  other  gun  fired  by  the  un- 
wounded  pasha,  who,  in  his  youth,  had  been  an  officer 
of  artillery,  added  to  the  confusion  in  the  swerving 
ranks,  and  the  force  hesitated;  and  now  from  Ebn  Ezra 
Bey's  river  steamers,  which  had  just  arrived,  there  came 
a  flank  fire.  The  force  wavered.  From  David's  gun  an- 
other shot  made  havoc.  They  turned  and  fell  back 
quickly.     The  situation  was  saved. 

As  if  by  magic  the  attack  of  the  enemy  all  over  the 
field  ceased.     By  sunset  they  had  meant  to  finish  this 

496 


THE    WEAVERS 

enterprise,  which  was  to  put  the  besieged  wholly  in 
their  hands,  and  then  to  feast  after  the  day's  fasting. 
Sunset  had  come,  and  they  had  been  foiled;  but  hunger 
demanded  the  feast.  The  order  to  cease  firing  and 
retreat  sounded,  and  three  thousand  men  hurried  back 
to  the  cooking-pot,  the  sack  of  dourha,  and  the  prayer- 
mat.  Malaish!  If  the  infidel  Inglesi  was  not  conquered 
to-day,  he  should  be  beaten  and  captured,  and  should 
die  to-morrow!  And  yet  there  were  those  among  them 
who  had  a  well-grounded  apprehension  that  the  "  Inglesi" 
would  win  in  the  end. 

By  the  trenches,  where  five  men  had  died  so  bravely, 
and  a  traitorous  pasha  had  paid  the  full  penalty  of  a 
crime  and  won  a  soldier's  death,  David  spoke  to  his 
living  comrades.  As  he  prepared  to  return  to  the  city, 
he  said  to  the  unwounded  pasha,  "Thou  wert  to  die 
at  sunset;  it  was  thy  sentence." 

And  the  pasha  answered:  "Saadat,  as  for  death — 
I  am  ready  to  die,  Saadat;  but  have  I  not  fought  for 
thee?" 

David   turned   to   the  wounded    pasha. 

"Why  did  Achmet  Pasha  spare  thee?" 

"He  did  not  spare  us,  Saadat.  Those  who  fought 
with  us  but  now  were  to  shoot  us  at  sunset,  and  remain 
here  till  other  troops  came.  Before  sunset  we  saw  the 
danger,  since  no  help  came.  Therefore  we  fought  to 
save  this  place  for  thee." 

David  looked  them  in  the  eyes.  "Ye  were  traitors," 
he  said,  "and  for  an  example  it  was  meet  that  ye  should 
die.  But  this  that  ye  have  done  shall  be  told  to  all  who 
fight  to-morrow,  and  men  will  know  why  it  is  I  pardon 
treachery.  Ye  shall  fight  again,  if  need  be,  betwixt 
this  hour  and  morning,  and  ye  shall  die,  if  need  be. 
Ye  are  willing?" 

Both  men  touched  their  foreheads,  their  lips  and  their 
breasts.     "Whether  it  be  death  or  it  be  life,  Inshallah, 

497 


THE    WEAVERS 

we  are  true  to  thee,  Saadat!"  one  said,  and  the  other 
repeated  the  words  after  him.  As  they  salaamed,  David 
left  them,  and  rode  forward  to  the  advancing  forces. 

Upon  the  roof  of  the  palace  Mahommed  Hassan 
watched  and  waited,  his  eyes  scanning  sharply  the  desert 
to  the  south,  his  ears  strained  to  catch  that  stir  of  life 
which  his  accustomed  ears  had  so  often  detected  in  the  des- 
ert, when  no  footsteps,  marching,  or  noises  could  be  heard. 
Below,  now  in  the  palace,  now  in  the  defences,  his 
master,  the  Saadat,  planned  for  the  last  day's  effort  on 
the  morrow,  gave  directions  to  the  officers,  sent  com- 
mands to  Achmet  Pasha,  arranged  for  the  disposition  of 
his  forces,  with  as  strange  a  band  of  adherents  and  subor- 
dinates as  ever  men  had — adventurers,  to  whom  adven- 
ture in  their  own  land  had  brought  no  profit ;  members  of 
that  legion  of  the  non-reputable,  to  whom  Cairo  offered  no 
home;  Levantines,  who  had  fled  from  that  underground 
world  where  every  coin  of  reputation  is  falsely  minted, 
refugees  from  the  storm  of  the  world's  disapproval. 
There  were  Greeks  with  Austrian  names;  Armenians, 
speaking  Italian  as  their  native  tongue;  Italians  of 
astonishing  military  skill,  whose  services  were  no  longer 
required  by  their  offended  country ;  French  Pizarros  with 
a  romantic  outlook,  even  in  misery,  intent  to  find  new 
El  Dorados;  Englishmen,  who  had  cheated  at  cards  and 
had  left  the  Horse  Guards  for  ever  behind;  Egyptian 
intriguers,  who  had  been  banished  for  being  less  success- 
ful than  greater  intriguers;  but  also  a  band  of  good 
gallant  men  of  every  nation. 

Upon  all  these,  during  the  siege,  Mahommed  Hassan 
had  been  a  self-appointed  spy,  and  had  indirectly  added 
to  that  knowledge  which  made  David's  decisive  actions 
to  circumvent  intrigue  and  its  consequences  seem  almost 
supernatural.  In  his  way  Mahommed  was  a  great 
man.     He  knew  that  David  would  endure  no  spying, 

498 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  it  was  creditable  to  his  subtlety  and  skill  that  he  was 
able  to  warn  his  master,  without  being  himself  suspected 
of  getting  information  by  dark  means.  On  the  palace 
roof  Mahommed  was  happy  to-night.  To-morrow 
would  be  a  great  day,  and,  since  the  Saadat  was  to 
control  its  destiny,  what  other  end  could  there  be  but 
happiness?  Had  not  the  Saadat  always  ridden  over  all 
that  had  been  in  his  way?  Had  not  he,  Mahommed, 
ever  had  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  money  to  send  to 
Manfaloot  to  his  father  there,  and  to  bribe  when  bribing 
was  needed?  Truly,  life  was  a  boon!  With  a  neboot  of 
dom-wood  across  his  knees  he  sat  in  the  still,  moonlit 
night,  peering  into  that  distance  whence  Ebn  Ezra  Bey  and 
his  men  must  come,  the  moon  above  tranquil  and  pleas- 
ant and  alluring,  and  the  desert  beneath,  covered  as  it 
was  with  the  outrages  and  terrors  of  war,  breathing  softly 
its  ancient  music,  that  delicate  vibrant  humming  of  the 
latent  activities.  In  his  uncivilized  soul  Mahommed 
Hassan  felt  this  murmur,  and  even  as  he  sat  waiting  to 
know  whether  a  little  army  would  steal  out  of  the  south 
like  phantoms  into  this  circle  the  Saadat  had  drawn 
round  him,  he  kept  humming  to  himself — had  he  not 
been,  was  he  not  now,  an  Apollo  to  numberless  houris 
who  had  looked  down  at  him  from  behind  mooshrabieh 
screens,  or  waited  for  him  in  the  palm  grove  or  the  cane- 
field?  The  words  of  his  song  were  not  uttered  aloud,  but 
yet  he  sang  them  silently — 

"Every    night    long   and    all    night    my    spirit    is    moaning    and 
crying — 
O  dear  gazelle,    that  has  taken  away  my  peace ! 
Ah!   if  my  beloved   come   not,   my   eyes   will  be  blinded   with 
weeping — 
■n  of  my  joy,  come  to  me,  hark  to  the  call  of  my  soul!  " 

Over  and  over  he  kept  chanting  the  song.     Suddenly, 
however,  he  leaned  farther  forward  and  strained  his  ears. 

49Q 


THE    WEAVERS 

Yes,  at  last,  away  to  the  south-east,  there  was  life  stirring, 
men  moving — moving  quickly.  He  got  to  his  feet  slowly, 
still  listening,  stood  for  a  moment  motionless,  then  with 
a  cry  of  satisfaction  dimly  saw  a  moving  mass  in  the 
white  moonlight  far  over  by  the  river.  Ebn  Ezra  Bey 
and  his  men  were  coming.  He  started  below,  and  met 
David  coming  up.  He  waited  till  David  had  mounted 
the  roof,  then  he  pointed.    "Now,  Saadat!"  he  said. 

'They  have  stolen  in?"    David  peered  into  the  misty 
whiteness. 

'They  are  almost  in,  Saadat.    Nothing  can  stop  them 
now." 

"It  is  well  done.  Go  and  ask  Ebn  Ezra  effendi  to 
come  hither,"  he  said. 

Suddenly  a  shot  was  fired,  then  a  hoarse  shout  came 
over  the  desert,  then  there  was  silence  again. 

"They  are  in,  Saadat,"  said  Mahommed  Hassan. 

Day  broke  over  a  hazy  plain.  On  both  sides  of  the  Nile 
the  river  mist  spread  wide,  and  the  army  of  AH  Wad  Hei 
and  the  defending  forces  were  alike  veiled  from  each 
other  and  from  the  desert  world  beyond.  Down  the  river 
for  scores  of  miles  the  mist  was  heavy,  and  those  who 
moved  within  it  and  on  the  waters  of  the  Nile  could  not 
see  fifty  feet  ahead.  Yet  through  this  heavy  veil  there 
broke  gently  a  little  fleet  of  phantom  vessels,  the  noise  of 
the  paddle-wheels  and  their  propellers  muffled  as  they 
moved  slowly  on.  Never  had  vessels  taken  such  risks  on 
the  Nile  before,  never  had  pilots  trusted  so  to  instinct,  for 
there  were  sand-banks  and  ugly  drifts  of  rock  here  and 
there.  A  safe  journey  for  phantom  ships;  but  these 
armed  vessels,  filled  by  men  with  white  eager  faces  and 
others  with  dark  Egyptian  features,  were  no  phantoms. 
They  bristled  with  weapons ,  and  armed  men  crowded  every 
corner  of  space.  For  full  two  hours  from  the  first  streak 
of  light  they  had  travelled  swiftly,  taking  chances  not  to 

500 


THE    WEAVERS 

be  taken  save  in  some  desperate  moment.  The  moment 
was  desperate  enough,  if  not  for  them.  They  were  going 
to  the  relief  of  besieged  men,  with  a  message  from 
Nahoum  Pasha  to  Claridge  Pasha,  and  with  succor. 
They  had  looked  for  a  struggle  up  this  river  as  they 
neared  the  beleaguered  city ;  but,  as  they  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  not  a  gun  fired  at  them  from  the  forts  on  the  banks 
out  of  the  mists.  If  they  were  heard  they  still  were  safe 
from  the  guns,  for  they  could  not  be  seen,  and  those  on 
shore  could  not  know  whether  they  were  friend  or  foe. 
Like  ghostly  vessels  they  passed  on,  until  at  last  they 
could  hear  the  stir  and  murmur  of  life  along  the  banks  of 
the  stream. 

Boom!  Boom!  Boom!  Through  the  mist  the  guns  of  thu 
city  were  pouring  shot  and  shell  out  into  Ali  Wad  Hei's 
camp,  and  Ali  Wad  Hei  laughed  contemptuously.  Surely 
now  the  Inglesi  was  altogether  mad,  and  to-day,  this  day 
after  prayers  at  noon,  he  should  be  shot  like  a  mad  dog, 
for  yesterday's  defeat  had  turned  some  of  his  own  adher- 
ent sheikhs  into  angry  critics.  He  would  not  wait  for 
starvation  to  compel  the  infidel  to  surrender.  He  would 
win  freedom  to  deal  in  human  flesh  and  blood,  and  make 
slave-markets  where  he  willed,  and  win  glory  for  the 
Lord  Mahomet,  by  putting  this  place  to  the  sword;  and, 
when  it  was  over,  he  would  have  the  Inglesi's  head  car- 
ried on  a  pole  through  the  city  for  the  faithful  to  mock  at, 
a  target  for  the  filth  of  the  streets.  So,  by  the  will  of 
Allah,  it  should  be  done! 

Boom!  Boom!  Boom!  The  Inglesi  was  certainly  mad, 
for  never  had  there  been  so  much  firing  in  any  long  day  in 
all  the  siege  as  in  this  brief  hour  this  morning.  It  was  the 
act  of  a  fool,  to  fire  his  shells  and  shot  into  the  mist  with- 
out aim,  without  a  clear  target.  Ali  Wad  Hei  scorned  to 
make  any  reply  with  his  guns,  but  sat  in  desultory  coun- 
sel with  his  sheikhs,  planning  what  should  be  done  when 

5°* 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  mists  had  cleared  away.  But  yesterday  evening  the 
Arab  chief  had  offered  to  give  the  Inglesi  life  if  he  would 
surrender  and  become  a  Muslim,  and  swear  by  the 
Lord  Mahomet  but  late  in  the  night  he  had  received  a 
reply  which  left  only  one  choice,  and  that  was  to  disem- 
bowel the  infidel,  and  carry  his  head  aloft  on  a  spear. 
The  letter  he  had  received  ran  thus  in  Arabic : 

"To  Ali  Wad  Hei  and  All  with  him: 

"We  are  here  to  live  or  to  die  as  God  wills,  and  not 
as  ye  will.  I  have  set  my  feet  on  the  rock,  and  not  by 
threats  of  any  man  shall  I  be  moved.  But  I  say  that 
for  all  the  blood  that  ye  have  shed  here  there  will  be 
punishment,  and  for  the  slaves  which  ye  have  slain  or 
sold  there  will  be  high  price  paid.  Ye  have  threatened 
the  city  and  me — take  us  if  ye  can.  Ye  are  seven  to 
one.  Why  falter  all  these  months!  If  ye  will  not  come 
to  us,  we  shall  come  to  you,  rebellious  ones,  who  have 
drawn  the  sword  against  your  lawful  ruler,  the  Effendina. 

"  Claridge  Pasha." 

It  was  a  rhetorical  document  couched  in  the  phrase- 
ology they  best  understood;  and  if  it  begat  derision,  it 
also  begat  anger;  and  the  challenge  David  had  delivered 
would  be  met  when  the  mists  had  lifted  from  the  river 
and  the  plain.  But  when  the  first  thinning  of  the  mists 
began,  when  the  sun  began  to  dissipate  the  rolling  haze, 
Ali  Wad  Hei  and  his  rebel  sheikhs  were  suddenly  startled 
by  rifle-fire  at  close  quarters,  by  confused  noises,  and 
the  jar  and  roar  of  battle.  Now  the  reason  for  the  firing 
of  the  great  guns  was  plain.  The  noise  was  meant  to 
cover  the  advance  of  David's  men.  The  little  garrison, 
which  had  done  no  more  than  issue  in  sorties,  was  now 
throwing  its  full  force  on  the  enemy  in  a  last  desperate 
endeavor.  It  was  either  success  or  absolute  destruction, 
David  was  staking  all,  with  the  last  of  his  food,  the  last  oi 

502 


THE    WEAVERS 

his  ammunition,  the  last  of  his  hopes.  All  round  the 
circle  the  movement  was  forward,  till  the  circle  had 
widened  to  the  enemy's  lines;  while  at  the  old  defences 
were  only  handfuls  of  men.  With  scarce  a  cry  David's 
men  fell  on  the  unprepared  foe;  and  he  himself,  on  a  gray 
Arab,  a  mark  for  any  lance  or  spear  and  rifle,  rode  upon 
that  point  where  AH  Wad  Hei's  tent  was  set. 

But  after  the  first  onset,  in  which  hundreds  were 
killed,  there  began  the  real  noise  of  battle — fierce  shout- 
ing',  the  shrill  cries  of  wounded  and  maddened  horses 
as  they  struck  with  their  feet,  and  bit  as  fiercely  at  the 
fighting  foe  as  did  their  masters.  The  mist  cleared 
slowly,  and,  when  it  had  wholly  lifted,  the  fight  was 
spread  over  every  part  of  the  field  of  siege.  Ali  Wad 
Hei's  men  had  gathered  themselves  together  after  the 
first  deadly  onslaught,  and  were  fighting  fiercely,  shout- 
ing the  Muslim  battle-cry,  "Allah  hit  acJibar!"  Able  to 
bring  up  reinforcements,  the  great  losses  at  first  sus- 
tained were  soon  made  up,  and  the  sheer  weight  of 
numbers  gave  them  courage  and  advantage.  By 
rushes  with  lance  and  sword  and  rifle  they  were 
able,  at  last,  to  drive  David's  men  back  upon  their 
old  defences  with  loss.  Then  charge  upon  charge 
ensued,  and  each  charge,  if  it  cost  them  much,  cost 
the  besieged  more,  by  reason  of  their  fewer  numbers. 
At  one  point,  however,  the  besieged  became  again  the 
attacking  party.  This  was  where  Achmet  Pasha  had 
command.  His  men  on  one  side  of  the  circle,  as  Ebn 
Ezra  Bey's  men  on  the  other,  fought  with  a  valor  as 
desperate  as  the  desert  ever  saw.  But  David,  galloping 
here  and  there  to  order,  to  encourage,  to  prevent  retreat 
at  one  point,  or  to  urge  attack  at  another,  saw  that  the 
doom  of  his  gallant  force  was  certain ;  for  the  enemy  were 
still  four  to  one,  in  spite  of  the  carnage  of  the  first 
attack.  Bullets  hissed  past  him.  One  carried  away  a 
button,  one  caught  the  tip  of  his  ear,  one  pierced  the 

5°3 


THE    WEAVERS 

fez  he  wore;  but  he  felt  nothing  of  this,  saw  nothing. 
He  was  buried  in  the  storm  of  battle,  preparing  for  the 
end,  for  the  final  grim  defence,  when  his  men  would 
retreat  upon  the  one  last  strong  fort,  and  there  await 
their  fate.  From  this  absorption  he  was  roused  by 
Lacey,  who  came  galloping  towards  him. 

"They've  come,  Saadat,  they've  come  at  last!  We're 
saved — oh,  my  God,  you  bet  we're  all  right  now!  See! 
See,  Saadat!" 

David  saw.  Five  steamers  carrying  the  Egyptian 
flag  were  bearing  around  the  point  where  the  river  curved 
below  the  town,  and  converging  upon  David's  small 
fleet.  Presently  the  steamers  opened  fire,  to  encourage 
the  besieged,  who  replied  with  frenzied  shouts  of  joy, 
and  soon  there  poured  upon  the  sands  hundreds  of 
men  in  the  uniform  of  the  Effendina.  These  came  for- 
ward at  the  double,  and,  with  a  courage  which  nothing 
could  withstand,  the  whole  circle  spread  out  again  upon 
the  discomfited  tribes  of  Ali  Wad  Hei.  Dismay,  con- 
fusion, possessed  the  Arabs.  Their  river-watchers  had 
failed  them,  God  had  hidden  His  face  from  them;  and 
when  Ali  Wad  Hei  and  three  of  his  emirs  turned  and 
rode  into  the  desert,  their  forces  broke  and  ran  also, 
pursued  by  the  relentless  men  who  had  suffered  the 
tortures  of  siege  so  long.  The  chase  was  short,  however, 
for  they  were  desert  folk,  and  they  returned  to  loot  the 
camp  which  had  menaced  them  so  long. 

Only  the  newcomers,  Nahoum's  men,  carried  the 
hunt  far;  and  they  brought  back  with  them  a  body 
which  their  leader  commanded  to  be  brought  to  a  great 
room  of  the  palace.  Towards  sunset  David  and  Ebn 
Ezra  Bey  and  Lacey  came  together  to  this  room.  The 
folds  of  loose  linen  were  lifted  from  the  face,  and  all 
three  looked  at  it  long  in  silence.     At  last  Lacey  spoke: 

"He  got  what  he  wanted;  the  luck  was  with  him. 
It's  better  than  Leperland." 

5°4 


THE    WEAVERS 

"In  the  bosom  of  Allah  there  is  peace,"  said  Ebn 
Ezra.      "It  is  well  with  Achmet." 

With  misty  eyes  David  stooped  and  took  the  dead 
man's  hand  in  his  for  a  moment.  Then  he  rose  to  his 
feet  and  turned  away. 

"And  Nahoum  also — and  Nahoum,"  he  said  presently. 
"Read  this,"  he  added,  and  put  a  letter  from  Nahoum 
into  Ebn  Ezra's  hand. 

Lacey  reverently  covered  Achmet's  face.  "Say,  he 
got  what  he  wanted,"  he  said  again. 


XLII 

THE     LOOM     OF    DESTINY 

It  was  many  a  day  since  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon 
had  seen  a  sunrise,  and  the  one  on  which  she  now  gazed 
from  the  deck  of  the  dahabieh  Nefert,  filled  her  with  a 
strange  new  sense  of  discovery  and  revelation.  Her 
perceptions  were  arrested  and  a  little  confused,  and  yet 
the  undercurrent  of  feeling  was  one  of  delight  and 
rejuvenation.  Why  did  this  sunrise  bring  back,  all  at 
once,  the  day  when  her  one  lost  child  was  born,  and  she 
looked  out  of  the  windows  of  Snowdon  Hall,  as  she  lay 
still  and  nerveless,  and  thought  how  wonderful  and 
sweet  and  green  was  the  world  she  saw  and  the  sky 
that  walled  it  round?  Sunrise  over  the  Greek  Temple 
of  Philae  and  the  splendid  ruins  of  a  farther  time  tower- 
ing beside  it!  In  her  sight  were  the  wide,  islanded  Nile 
where  Cleopatra  loitered  with  Anthony,  the  foaming, 
crashing  cataracts  above,  the  great  quarries  from  which 
ancient  temples  had  been  hewed,  unfinished  obelisks 
and  vast  blocks  of  stone  left  where  bygone  work- 
men had  forsaken  them,  when  the  invader  came 
and  another  dynasty  disappeared  into  that  partial 
oblivion  from  which  the  Egyptian  still  emerges  tri- 
umphant over  all  his  conquerors,  unchanged  in  form 
and  feature.  Something  of  its  meaning  got  into  her 
mind. 

"  I  wonder  what  Windlehurst  would  think  of  it,  he 
always  had  an  eye  for  things  like  that,"  she  murmured; 

506 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  then  caught  her  breath,  as  she  added,  "He  always 
liked  beauty."  She  looked  at  her  wrinkled,  childish 
hands.  "But  sunsets  never  grow  old,"  she  continued, 
with  no  apparent  relevance.  "La,  la,  we  were  young 
once!" 

Her  eyes  were  lost  again  in  the  pinkish  glow  spreading 
over  the  gray-brown  sand  of  the  desert,  over  the  palm- 
covered  island  near.  "And  now  it's  others'  turn, 
or  ought  to  be,"  she  murmured. 

She  looked  to  where,  not  far  away,  Hylda  stood 
leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  dahabieh,  her  eyes  fixed 
in  reverie  on  the  farthest  horizon  line  of  the  unpeopled, 
untraveled  plain  of  sand. 

"No,  poor  thing,  it's  not  her  turn,"  she  added,  as 
Hylda,  with  a  long  sigh,  turned  and  went  below.  Tears 
gathered  in  her  pale  blue  eyes.  "Not  yet — with 
Eglington  alive.  And  perhaps  it  would  be  best  if  the 
other  never  came  back.  I  could  have  made  the  world 
better  worth  living  in  if  I  had  had  the  chance — and  I 
wouldn't  have  been  a  duchess!     La!     La!" 

She  relapsed  into  reverie,  an  uncommon  experience  for 
her;  and  her  mind  floated  indefinitely  from  one  thing  to 
another,  while  she  was  half  conscious  of  the  smell  of 
coffee  permeating  the  air,  and  of  the  low  resonant  notes 
of  the  Nubian  boys,  as,  with  locked  shoulders,  they 
scrubbed  the  decks  of  a  dahabieh  near  by  with  hemp- 
shod  feet. 

Presently,  however,  she  was  conscious  of  another 
sound — the  soft  clip  of  oars,  joined  to  the  guttural, 
explosive  song  of  native  rowers;  and,  leaning  over  the 
rail,  she  saw  a  boat  draw  alongside  the  Nefert.  From 
it  came  the  figure  of  Nahoum  Pasha,  who  stepped 
briskly  on  deck,  in  his  handsome  face  a  light  which 
flashed  an  instant  meaning  to  her. 

"  I  know — I  know!  Claridge  Pasha — you  have  heard?" 
she  said  excitedly,  as  he  came  to  her. 

507 


THE    WEAVERS 

He  smiled  and  nodded.  "A  messenger  has  arrived. 
Within  a  few  hours  he  should  be  here." 

"Then  it  was  all  false  that  he  was  wounded — ah,  that 
horrible  story  of  his  death!" 

"Bismillah,  it  was  not  all  false!  The  night  before  the 
great  battle  he  was  slightly  wounded  in  the  side.  He 
neglected  it,  and  fever  came  on;  but  he  survived.  His 
first  messengers  to  us  were  killed,  and  that  is  why  the 
news  of  the  relief  came  so  late.  But  all  is  well  at  last. 
I  have  come  to  say  so  to  Lady  Eglington  even  before 
I  went  to  the  Effendina."  He  made  a  gesture  towards 
a  huge  and  gaily  caparisoned  dahabieh  not  far  away. 
"  Kaid  was  right  about  coming  here.  His  health  is  better. 
He  never  doubted  Claridge  Pasha's  return;  it  was  une 
idee  fixe.  He  believes  a  magic  hand  protects  the  Saadat, 
and  that,  adhering  to  him,  he  himself  will  carry  high 
the  flower  of  good  fortune  and  live  forever.  Kismet!  I 
will  not  wait  to  see  Lady  Eglington.  I  beg  to  offer  to  her 
my  congratulations  on  the  triumph  of  her  countryman." 

His  words  had  no  ulterior  note;  but  there  was  a 
shadow  in  his  eyes  which  in  one  not  an  Oriental  would 
have  seemed  sympathy. 

"Pasha!  Pasha!"  the  Duchess  called  after  him,  as  he 
turned  to  leave;  "tell  me,  is  there  any  news  from 
England — from  the   Government?" 

"From  Lord  Eglington?  No,"  Nahoum  answered 
meaningly.  "  I  wrote  to  him.  Did  the  English  Govern- 
ment desire  to  send  a  message  to  Claridge  Pasha  if  the 
relief  was  accomplished?  That  is  what  I  asked.  But 
there  is  no  word.     Malaish,  Egypt  will  welcome  him!" 

She  followed  his  eyes.  Two  score  of  dahabiehs  lay 
along  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  on  the  shore  were 
encampments  of  soldiers,  while  flags  were  flying  every- 
where. Egypt  had  followed  the  lead  of  the  Effendina. 
Claridge  Pasha's  star  was  in  its  zenith. 

As  Nahoum's  boat  was  rowed  away,  Hylda  came  on 

508 


THE    WEAVERS 

deck  again,  and  the  Duchess  hastened  to  her.  Hylda 
caught  the  look  in  her  face.  'What  has  happened?  Is 
there  news?     Who  has  been  here?"  she  asked. 

The  Duchess  took  her  hands.  "Nahoum  has  gone  to 
tell  Prince  Kaid.  He  came  to  you  with  the  good  news 
first,"  she  said  with  a  flutter. 

She  felt  Hylda 's  hands  turn  cold.  A  kind  of  mist 
filled  the  dark  eyes,  and  the  slim,  beautiful  figure  swayed 
slightly.  An  instant  only,  and  then  the  lips  smiled 
and  Hylda  said  in  a  quavering  voice,  "They  will  be 
so  glad  in  England." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  darling,  that  is  what  Nahoum  said." 
She  gave  Nahoum's  message  to  her.  "  Now  they'll 
make  him  a  peer,  I  suppose,  after  having  deserted  him. 
So  English!" 

She  did  not  understand  why  Hylda's  hands  trembled 
so,  why  so  strange  a  look  came  into  her  face,  but,  in  an 
instant,  the  rare  and  appealing  eyes  shone  again  with  a 
light  of  agitated  joy,  and  Hylda  leaned  suddenly  over 
and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"Smell  the  coffee,"  she  said,  with  assumed  gaiety. 
"Doesn't  fair-and-sixty  want  her  breakfast?  Sunrise 
is  a  splendid  tonic."     She  laughed  feverishly. 

"My  darling,  I  hadn't  seen  the  sun  rise  in  thirty 
years,  not  since  the  night  I  first  met  Windlelmrst  at  a 
Foreign  Office  ball." 

'You  have  always  been  great  friends?"  Hylda 
stole  a  look  at  her. 

"  That's  the  queer  part  of  it;  I  was  so  stupid,  and  he  so 
clever.  But  Windlehurst  has  a  way  of  letting  himself 
down  to  your  level.  He  always  called  me  Betty  after 
my  girl  died,  just  as  if  I  was  his  equal.  La,  la,  but  I  was 
proud  when  he  first  called  me  that — the  Prime  Minister 
of  England.  I'm  going  to  watch  the  sun  rise  again 
to-morrow,  my  darling.  I  didn't  know  it  was  so 
beautiful,  and  gave  one  such   an   appetite."     She  broke 

5°9 


THE    WEAVERS 

a  piece  of  bread,  and,  not  waiting  to  butter  it,  almost 
stuffed  it  into  her  mouth. 

Hylda  leaned  over  and  pressed  her  arm.  "What  a 
good  mother  Betty  it  is!"  she  said  tenderly. 

Presently  they  were  startled  by  the  shrill  screaming 
of  a  steamer  whistle,  followed  by  the  churning  of  the 
paddles,  as  she  drove  past  and  drew  to  the  bank  near 
them. 

"It  is  a  steamer  from  Cairo,  with  letters,  no  doubt," 
said  Hylda;  and  the  Duchess  nodded  assent,  and  covertly 
noted  her  look,  for  she  knew  that  no  letters  had  arrived 
from  Eglington  since  Hylda  had  left  England. 

A  half-hour  later,  as  the  Duchess  sat  on  deck,  a 
great  straw  hat  tied  under  her  chin  with  pale  blue 
ribbons,  like  a  child  of  twelve,  she  was  startled  by 
seeing  the  figure  of  a  farmer-looking  person  with  a 
shock  of  gray-red  hair,  a  red  face,  and  with  great  blue 
eyes,  appear  before  her  in  the  charge  of  Hylda's  drago- 
man. 

"This  has  come  to  speak  with  my  lady,"  the  dragoman 
said,  "but  my  lady  is  riding  into  the  desert — there!" 
He  pointed  to  the  sands. 

The  Duchess  motioned  the  dragoman  away,  and 
scanned  the  face  of  the  new-comer  shrewdly.  Where  had 
she  seen  this  strange-looking  English  peasant,  with  the 
rolling  walk  of  a  sailor? 

"What  is  your  name,  and  where  do  you  come  from?" 
she  asked,  not  without  anxiety,  for  there  was  something 
ominous  and  suggestive  in  the  old  man's  face. 

"  I  come  from  Hamley,  in  England,  and  my  name  is 
Soolsby,  your  grace.     I  come  to  see  my  Lady  Eglington." 

Now  she  remembered  him.  She  had  seen  him  in 
Hamley  more  than  once. 

"You  have  come  far;  have  you  important  news  for 
her  ladyship?     Is   there   anything  wrong?"   she   asked 

5io 


THE    WEAVERS 

with  apparent  composure,  but  with  heavy  premonition. 

"Ay,  news  that  counts,  I  bring,"  answered  Soolsby, 
"or  I  hadn't  come  this  long  way.  Tis  a  long  way  at 
sixty-five." 

"Well,  yes,  at  our  age  it  is  a  long  way,"  rejoined  the 
Duchess  in  a  friendly  voice,  suddenly  waiving  away  the 
intervening  air  of  class,  for  she  was  half  a  peasant  at 
heart. 

"Ay,  and  we  both  come  for  the  same  end,  I  suppose," 
Soolsby  added;  "and  a  costly  business  it  is.  But  what 
matters,  so  be  that  you  help  her  ladyship  and  I  help 
Our  Man." 

"And  who  is  'Our  Man'?"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"  Him  that's  coming  safe  here  from  the  South — David 
Claridge,"  he  answered.  "Ay,  'twas  the  first  thing  I 
heard  when  I  landed  here,  me  that  be  come  all  these 
thousand  miles  to  see  him,  if  so  be  he  was  alive." 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  Kate  Heaver  climbing 
the  stair  to  the  deck  where  they  were.  His  face  flushed; 
he  hurried  forward  and  gripped  her  by  the  arm,  as  her 
feet  touched  the  upper  deck.  "  Kate — ay,  'tis  Kate!"  he 
cried.  Then  he  let  go  her  arm  and  caught  a  hand  in 
both  of   his   and   fondled   it.     "Ay,    ay,    'tis    Kate!" 

"What  is  it  brings  you,  Soolsby?"  Kate  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  'Tis  not  Jasper,  and  'tis  not  the  drink — ay,  I've  been 
sober  since,  ever  since,  Kate,  lass,"  he  answered  stoutly. 

"Oh,  quick,  tell  me  what  it  is!"  she  said  frowning. 
"  You've  not  come  here  for  naught,  Soolsby." 

Still  holding  her  hand,  he  leaned  over  and  whispered 
in  her  ear.  For  an  instant  she  stood  as  though  trans- 
fixed, and  then,  with  a  curious  muffled  cry,  broke  away 
from  him  and  turned  to  go  below. 

"Keep  your  mouth  shut,  lass,  till  proper  time,"  he 
called  after  her,  as  she  descended  the  steps  hastily  again. 
Then  he  came  slowly  back  to  the  Duchess. 

5" 


THE     WEAVERS 

He  looked  her  in  the  face — he  was  so  little  like  a 
peasant,  so  much  more  like  a  sailor  here  with  his  feet  on 
the  deck  of  a  floating  thing.  'Your  grace  is  a  good 
friend  to  her  ladyship,"  he  said  at  last,  deliberately, 
"and  'tis  well  that  you  tell  her  ladyship.  As  good  a 
friend  to  her  you've  been,  I  doubt  not,  as  that  I've 
been  to  him  that's  coming  from  beyond  and  away." 

"Go  on,  man,  go  on.  I  want  to  know  what  startled 
Heaver  yonder,  what  you  have  come  to  say." 

I  beg  pardon,  your  grace.  One  doesn't  keep 
good  news  waiting,  and  'tis  not  good  news  for  her 
ladyship  I  bring,  even  if  it  be  for  Claridge  Pasha,  for 
there  was  no  love  lost  'twixt  him  and  second-best 
lordship  that's  gone." 

"Speak,  man,  speak  it  out,  and  no  more  riddles,"  she 
interrupted  sharply. 

"  Then,  he  that  was  my  Lord  Eglington  is  gone  foreign 
— he  is  dead,"  he  said  slowly. 

The  Duchess  fell  back  in  her  chair.  For  an  instant  the 
desert,  the  temples,  the  palms,  the  Nile  waters  faded,  and 
she  was  in  some  middle  world,  in  which  Soolsby's  voice 
seemed  coming  muffled  and  deep  across  a  dark  flood; 
then  she  recovered  herself,  and  gave  a  little  cry,  not 
unlike  that  which  Kate  gave  a  few  moments  before, 
partly  of  pain,  partly  of  relief. 

"Ay,  he's  dead  and  buried,  too,  and  in  the  Quaker 
churchyard.  Miss  Claridge  would  have  it  so!  And 
none  in  Hamley  said  nay,  not  one." 

The  Duchess  murmured  to  herself.  Eglington  was 
dead — Eglington  was  dead — Eglington  was  dead  !  And 
David  Claridge  was  coming  out  of  the  desert,  was  coming 
to-day — now  ! 

"  How  did  it  happen?"  she  asked  faintly,  at  last. 

'Things  went  wrong  wi'  him — bad  wrong  in  Parlia- 
ment and  everywhere,  and  he  didn't  take  it  well.  He 
stood  the  world  off  like — ay,  he  had  no  temper  for  black 

512 


THE    WEAVERS 

days.  He  shut  himself  up  at  Hamley  in  his  chemical 
place,  like  his  father,  like  his  father  before  him.  When 
the  week-end  came,  there  he  was  all  day  and  night 
among  his  bottles  and  jars  and  wires.  He  was  after 
summat  big  in  experiment  for  explosives,  so  the  papers 
said,  and  so  he  said  himself  before  he  died,  to  Miss 
Claridge  —  ay,  'twas  her  he  deceived  and  treated 
cruel,  that  come  to  him  when  he  was  shattered  by  his 
experimenting.  No  patience,  he  had  at  last — and 
reckless  in  his  chemical  place,  and  didn't  realize  what 
his  hands  was  doing.  'Twas  so  he  told  her,  that  forgave 
him  all  his  deceit,  and  held  him  in  her  arms  when  he  died. 
Not  many  words  he  had  to  speak;  but  he  did  say  that 
he  had  never  done  any  good  to  any  one — ay,  I  was  stand- 
ing near  behind  his  bed  and  heard  all,  for  I  was  thinking 
of  her  alone  with  him,  and  so  I  would  be  with  her,  and 
she  would  have  it  so.  Ay,  and  he  said  that  he  had 
misused  cruel  her  that  had  loved  him,  her  ladyship, 
that's  here.  He  said  he  had  misused  her  because  he  had 
never  loved  her  truly,  only  pride  and  vain-glory  being 
in  his  heart.  Then  he  spoke  summat  to  her  that  was 
there  to  forgive  him  and  help  him  over  the  stile  'twixt 
this  field  and  it  that's  Beyond  and  Away,  which 
made  her  cry  out  in  pain  and  say  that  he  must  fix  his 
thoughts  on  other  things.  And  she  prayed  out  loud  for 
him,  for  he  would  have  no  parson  there.  She  prayed 
and  prayed  as  never  priest  or  parson  prayed,  and  at  last 
he  got  quiet  and  still,  and,  when  she  stopped  praying, 
he  did  not  speak  or  open  his  eyes  for  a  longish  while. 
But  when  the  old  clock  on  the  stable  was  striking  twelve, 
he  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  when  it  had  stopped,  he 
said:  'It  is  always  twelve  by  the  clock  that  stops  at 
noon.  I've  done  no  good.  I've  earned  my  end.'  He 
looked  as  though  he  was  waiting  for  the  clock  to  go  on 
striking,  half  raising  himself  up  in  bed,  with  Miss 
Faith's  arm  under  his  head,      lie  whispered  to  her  then 

513 


THE    WEAVERS 

— he  couldn't  speak  by  this  time.  '  It's  twelve  o'clock,' 
he  said.  Then  there  come  some  words  I've  heard  the 
priest  say  at  Mass,  '  Vanitas,  Vanitatum,' — that  was  what 
he  said.  And  her  he'd  lied  to,  there  with  him,  laying  his 
head  down  on  the  pillow,  as  if  he  was  her  child  going  to 
sleep.  So,  too,  she  had  him  buried  by  her  father,  in  the 
Quaker  burying-ground — ay,  she  is  a  saint  on  earth,  I 
warrant." 

For  a  moment  after  he  had  stopped  the  Duchess  did 
not  speak,  but  kept  untying  and  tying  the  blue  ribbons 
under  her  chin,  her  faded  eyes  still  fastened  on  him, 
burning  with  the  flame  of  an  emotion  which  made  them 
dark  and  young  again. 

"So,  it's  all  over,"  she  said,  as  though  to  herself. 
"They  were  all  alike,  from  old  Broadbrim,  the  grand- 
father, down  to  this  one,  and  back  to  William  the 
Conqueror." 

"Like  as  peas  in  a  pod,"  exclaimed  Soolsby — "all 
but  one,  all  but  one,  and  never  satisfied  with  what  was  in 
their  own  garden,  but  peeking,  peeking  beyond  the 
hedge,  and  climbing  and  getting  a  fall.  That's  what 
they've  always  been  evermore." 

His  words  aroused  the  Duchess,  and  the  air  became  a 
little  colder  about  her — after  all,  the  division  between 
the  classes  and  the  masses  must  be  kept,  and  the  Egling- 
tons  were  no  upstarts.  "You  will  say  nothing  about 
this  till  I  give  you  leave  to  speak,"  she  commanded. 
"I  must  tell  her  ladyship." 

Soolsby  drew  himself  up  a  little,  nettled  at  her  tone. 
"It  is  your  grace's  place  to  tell  her  ladyship,"  he  re- 
sponded; "but  I've  taken  ten  years'  savings  to  come  to 
Egypt,  and  not  to  do  any  one  harm,  but  good,  if  so  be  I 
might." 

The  Duchess  relented  at  once.  She  got  to  her  feet 
as  quickly  as  she  could,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 
"You  are  a  good  man  and  a    friend   worth    having,  I 

5M 


THE    WEAVERS 

know,  and  I  shall  like  you  to  be  my  friend,  Mr.  Soolsby," 
she  said  impulsively. 

He  took  her  hand  and  shook  it  awkwardly,  his  lips 
working.  "  Your  grace,  I  understand.  I've  got  naught 
to  live  for  except  my  friends.  Money's  naught,  naught's 
naught,  if  there  isn't  a  friend  to  feel  a  crunch  at  his 
heart  when  summat  bad  happens  to  you.  I'd  take  my 
affydavy  that  there's  no  better  friend  in  the  world  than 
your  grace." 

She  smiled  at  him.  "And  so  we  are  friends,  aren't 
we?  And  I  am  to  tell  her  ladyship,  and  you  are  to  say 
'naught.'" 

"  But  to  the  Egyptian,  to  him,  your  grace,  it  is  my 
place  to  speak — to  Claridge  Pasha,  when  he  comes." 

The  Duchess  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "How  does 
Lord  Eglington's  death  concern  Claridge  Pasha?"  she 
asked  rather  anxiously.  Had  there  been  gossip  about 
Hylda?  Had  the  public  got  a  hint  of  the  true  story  of  her 
flight,  in  spite  of  all  Windlehurst  had  done?  Was 
Hylda's  name  smirched,  now,  when  all  would  be  set 
right?     Had  everything  come  too  late,  as  it  were? 

"There's  two  ways  that  his  lordship's  death  concerns 
Claridge  Pasha,"  answered  Soolsby  shrewdly,  for 
though  he  guessed  the  truth  concerning  Hylda  and 
David,  his  was  not  a  leaking  tongue.  'There's  two 
ways  it  touches  him.  There'll  be  a  new  man  in  the 
Foreign  Office — Lord  Eglington  was  always  against 
Claridge  Pasha;  and  there's  matters  of  land  betwixt  the 
two  estates — matters  of  land  that's  got  to  be  settled 
now,"  he  continued,  with  determined  and  successful 
evasion. 

The  Duchess  was  deceived.  "  But  you  will  not  tell 
Claridge  Pasha  until  I  have  told  her  ladyship  and  I  give 
you  leave;  promise  that,"  she  urged. 

"  I  will  not  tell  him  until  then,"  he  answered.  "  Look, 
look,  your  grace,"  he  added,  suddenly  pointing  towards 

5i5 


THE    WEAVERS 

the  southern  horizon,  "there  he  comes!  Ay,  'tis  Our 
Man,  I  doubt  not — Our  Man  evermore!" 

Miles  away  there  appeared  on  the  horizon  a  dozen 
camels  being  ridden  towards  Assouan. 

"Our  Man,  evermore,"  repeated  the  Duchesss,  with  a 
trembling  smile.  '  Yes,  it  is  surely  he.  See,  the  soldiers 
are  moving.  They're  going  to  ride  out  to  meet  him." 
She  made  a  gesture  towards  the  far  shore  where  Kaiid's 
men  were  saddling  their  horses,  and  to  Nahoum's  and 
Kaid's  dahabiehs,  where  there  was  a  great  stir. 

'There's  one  from  Hamley  will  meet  them  first," 
Soolsby  said,  and  pointed  to  where  Hylda,  in  the  desert, 
was  riding  towards  the  camels  coming  out  of  the  south. 

The  Duchess  threw  up  her  hands.  "Dear  me,  dear 
me,"  she  said  in  distress,  "if  she  only  knew!" 

"There's  thousands  of  women  that'd  ride  out  mad  to 
meet  him,"  said  Soolsby  carefully;  "women  that  likes 
to  see  an  Englishman  that's  done  his  duty — ny,  women 
and  men,  that'd  ride  hard  to  welcome  him  back  from  the 
grave.  Her  ladyship's  as  good  a  patriot  as  any,"  he 
added,  watching  the  Duchess  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
eyes,  his  face  turned  to  the  desert. 

The  Duchess  looked  at  him  quizzically,  and  was 
satisfied  with  her  scrutiny.  "  You're  a  man  of  sense,"  she 
replied  brusquely,  and  gathered  up  her  skirts.  "  Find 
me  a  horse  or  a  donkey,  and  I'll  go,  too,"  she  added 
whimsically.      "  Patriotism  is  such  a  nice  sentiment!" 

For  David  and  Lacey  the  morning  had  broken  upon  a 
new  earth.  Whatever  of  toil  and  tribulation  the  future 
held  in  store,  this  day  marked  a  step  forward  in  the 
work  to  which  David  had  set  his  life.  A  way  had  been 
cloven  through  the  bloody  palisades  of  barbarism,  and 
though  the  dark  races  might  seek  to  hold  back  the 
forces  which  drain  the  fens,  and  build  the  bridges,  and 
make  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose,  which  give  liberty 

5i6 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  preserve  life,  the  good  end  was  sure  and  near, 
whatever  of  rebellion  and  disorder  and  treachery  inter- 
vened. This  was  the  larger,  graver  issue;  but  they  felt  a 
spring  in  the  blood,  and  their  hearts  were  leaping,  because 
of  the  thought  that  soon  they  would  clasp  hands  again 
with  all  from  which  they  had  been  exiled. 

"Say,  Saadat,  think  of  it:  a  bed  with  four  feet,  and 
linen  sheets,  and  sleeping  till  any  time  in  the  morning, 
and,  'If  you  please,  sir,  your  bath  is  ready.'  Say,  it's 
great,  and  we're  in  it!" 

David  smiled.  'Thee  did  very  well,  friend,  without 
such  luxuries.     Thee  is  not  skin  and  bone." 

Lacey  mopped  his  forehead.  "Well,  I've  put  on  a 
layer  or  two  since  the  relief.  It's  being  scared  that 
takes  the  flesh  off  me.  I  never  was  intended  for  the 
'stricken  field.'  Poetry  and  the  hearthstone  was  my 
real  vocation — and  a  bit  of  silver  mining  to  blow  off 
steam  with,"  he  added  with  a  chuckle. 

David  laughed  and  tapped  his  arm.  "That  is  an 
old  story  now,  thy  cowardice.  Thee  should  be  more 
original." 

"  It's  worth  not  being  original,  Saadat,  to  hear  you 
thee  and  thou  me  as  you  used  to  do.     It's  like  old  times— 
the  oldest,  first  times.     You've  changed  a  lot,  Saadat." 

"Not  in  anything  that  matters,  I  hope." 

"  Not  in  anything  that  matters  to  any  one  that  matters. 
To  me  it's  the  same  as  it  ever  was,  only  more  so.  It 
isn't  that,  for  you  are  you.  But  you've  had  disap- 
pointment, trouble,  hard  nuts  to  crack,  and  all  you 
could  do  to  escape  the  rocks  being  rolled  down  the 
Egyptian  hill  onto  you;  and  it's  left  its  mark." 

"Am  I  grown  so  different?" 

Lacey's  face  shone  under  the  look  that  was  turned 
towards  him.  "  Say,  Saadat,  you're  the  same  old  red  sand- 
stone; but  I  missed  the  thee  and  thou.  I  sort  of  hankered 
after  it-  it  gets  me  where  I'm  at  home  with  myself." 

5*7 


THE    WEAVERS 

David  laughed  dryly.  "Well,  perhaps  I've  missed 
something  in  you.  Thee  never  says  now — not  since  thee 
went  south  a  year  ago,  'Well,  give  my  love  to  the  girls.' 
Something  has  left  its  mark,  friend,"  he  added  teasingly; 
for  his  spirits  were  boyish  to-day;  he  was  living  in  the 
present.  There  had  gone  from  his  eyes  and  from  the 
lines  of  his  figure  the  melancholy  which  Hylda  had 
remarked  when  he  was  in  England. 

"  Well,  now,  I  never  noticed,"  rejoined  Lacey.  "  That's 
got  me.  Looks  as  if  I  wasn't  as  friendly  as  I  used  to  be, 
doesn't  it?     But  I  am — I  am,  Saadat." 

"I  thought  that  the  widow  in  Cairo,  perhaps — " 

Lacey  chuckled.  "Say,  perhaps  it  was — cute  as  she 
can  be,  maybe,  wouldn't   like  it,  might  be  prejudiced." 

Suddenly  David  turned  sharply  to  Lacey.  "Thee 
spoke  of  silver  mining  just  now.  I  owe  thee  something 
like  two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  I  think  —  Egypt 
and  I." 

Lacey  winked  whimsically  at  himself  under  the  rim  of 
his  helmet.  "Are  you  drawing  back  from  those  rail- 
way concessions,  Saadat,"  he  asked  with  apparent 
ruefulness. 

"Drawing  back?  No!  But  does  thee  think  they  are 
worth—" 

Lacey  assumed  an  injured  air.  "  If  a  man  that's  made 
as  much  money  as  me  can't  be  trusted  to  look  after  a 
business  proposition — " 

"Oh,  well,  then!" 

"Say,  Saadat,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I've  taken 
a  mean  advantage  of  you;  and  if — " 

David  hastened  to  put  the  matter  right.  "No,  no; 
thee  must  be  the  judge!"  He  smiled  sceptically.  "In 
any  case,  thee  has  done  a  good  deed  in  a  great  way, 
and  it  will  do  thee  no  harm  in  the  end.  In  one  way 
the  investment  will  pay  a  long  interest,  as  long  as 
the  history   of   Egypt    runs!      Ah,    see,    the   houses   of 

5i8 


THE    WEAVERS 

Assouan,  the  palms,  the  river,  the  masts  of  the 
dahabiehs!" 

Lacey  quickened  his  camel's  steps,  and  stretched  out 
a  hand  to  the  inviting  distance.  "My,  it's  great,"  he 
said,  and  his  eyes  were  blinking  with  tears.  Presently  he 
pointed.  "There's  a  woman  riding  to  meet  us,  Saadat. 
Golly,  can't  she  ride!  She  means  to  be  in  it — to  salute 
the  returning  brave." 

He  did  not  glance  at  David.  If  he  had  done  so,  he 
would  have  seen  that  David's  face  had  taken  on  a 
strange  look ;  just  such  a  look  as  it  wore  that  night  in  the 
monastery  when  he  saw  Hylda  in  a  vision  and  heard  her 
say,  "Speak — speak  to  me!" 

There  had  shot  into  David's  mind  the  conviction  that 
the  woman  riding  towards  them  was  Hylda.  Hylda,  the 
first  to  welcome  him  back,  Hylda — Lady  Eglington! 
Suddenly  his  face  appeared  to  tighten  and  grow  thin. 
It  was  all  joy  and  torture  at  once.  He  had  fought  this 
fight  out  with  himself — had  he  not  done  so?  Had  he  not 
closed  his  heart  to  all  but  duty  and  Egypt?  Yet  there 
she  was  riding  out  of  the  old  life,  out  of  Hamlcy,  and 
England,  and  all  that  had  happened  in  Cairo,  to  meet 
him.  Nearer  and  nearer  she  came.  He  could  not  see 
the  face,  but  yet  he  knew.  He  quickened  his  camel, 
and  drew  ahead  of  Lacey.  Lacey  did  not  understand, 
he  did  not  recognize  Hylda  as  yet;  but  he  knew  by 
instinct  the  Saadat's  wishes,  and  he  motioned  the  others 
to  ride  more  slowly,  while  he  and  they  watched  horse- 
men coming  out  from  Assouan  towards  them. 

David  urged  his  camel  on.  Presently  he  could  dis- 
tinguish the  features  of  the  woman  riding  towards  him. 
It  was  Hylda.  His  presentiment,  his  instinct  had  been 
right.  His  heart  beat  tumultuously,  his  hand  trembled, 
he  grew  suddenly  weak;  but  he  summoned  up  his  will, 
and  ruled  himself  to  something  like  composure.  This, 
then,  was  his  home-coming  from  the  far  miseries  and 

34  5i9 


THE    WEAVERS 

trials  and  battlefields — to  see  her  face  before  all  others,  to 
hear  her  voice  first.  What  miracle  had  brought  this 
thing  to  pass,  this  beautiful,  bitter,  forbidden  thing? 
Forbidden!  Whatever  the  cause  of  her  coming,  she 
must  not  see  what  he  felt  for  her.  He  must  deal  fairly 
by  her  and  by  Eglington ;  he  must  be  true  to  that  real  self 
which  had  emerged  from  the  fiery  trial  in  the  monastery. 
Bronzed  as  he  was,  his  face  showed  no  paleness ;  but,  as  he 
drew  near  her,  it  grew  pinched  and  wan  from  the  effort  at 
self-control.  He  set  his  lips,  and  rode  on,  until  he  could 
see  her  eyes  looking  into  his — eyes  full  of  that  which  he 
had  never  seen  in  any  eyes  in  all  the  world! 

What  had  been  her  feelings  during  that  ride  in  the 
desert?  She  had  not  meant  to  go  out  to  meet  him. 
After  she  heard  that  he  was  coming,  her  desire  was  to  get 
away  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  be  alone  with 
her  thoughts.  He  was  coming,  he  was  safe,  and  her 
work  was  done.  What  she  had  set  out  to  do  was  accom- 
plished— to  bring  him  back,  if  it  was  God's  will,  out  of 
the  jaws  of  death,  for  England's  sake,  for  the  world's 
sake,  for  his  sake,  for  her  own  sake.  For  her  own  sake? 
Yes,  yes,  in  spite  of  all,  for  her  own  sake.  Whatever  lay 
before,  now,  for  this  one  hour,  for  this  moment  of  meeting 
he  should  be  hers.  But  meet  him,  where?  Before  all 
the  world,  with  a  smile  of  conventional  welcome  on  her 
lips,  with  the  same  hand-clasp  that  any  friend  and  lover 
of  humanity  would  give  him  ? 

The  desert  air  blew  on  her  face,  keen,  sweet,  vibrant, 
thrilling.  What  he  had  heard  that  night  at  the  mon- 
astery, the  humming  life  of  the  land  of  white  fire — the 
desert,  the  million  looms  of  all  the  weavers  of  the  world 
weaving,  this  she  heard  in  the  sunlight,  with  the  sand 
rising  like  surf  behind  her  horse's  heels.  The  misery 
and  the  tyranny  and  the  unrequited  love  were  all  behind 
her,  the  disillusion  and  the  loss  and  the  undeserved  insult 
to  her  womanhood — all,    all   were   sunk    away  into  the 

520 


THE    WEAVERS 

unredeemable  past.  Here,  in  Egypt,  where  she  had  first 
felt  the  stir  of  life's  passion  and  pain  and  penalty,  here, 
now,  she  lost  herself  in  a  beautiful,  buoyant  dream.  She 
was  riding  out  to  meet  the  one  man  of  all  men,  hero, 
crusader,  rescuer — ah,  that  dreadful  night  in  the  Palace, 
and  Foorgat's  face!  But  he  was  coming,  who  had  made 
her  live,  to  whom  she  had  called,  to  whom  her  soul  had 
spoken  in  its  grief  and  misery.  Had  she  ever  done  aught 
to  shame  the  best  that  was  in  herself — and  had  she  not 
been  sorely  tempted?  Had  she  not  striven  to  love 
Eglington  even  when  the  worst  was  come,  not  alone  at 
her  own  soul's  command,  but  because  she  knew  that 
this  man  would  have  it  so  ?  Broken  by  her  own  sorrow, 
she  had  left  England,  Eglington — all,  to  keep  her  pledge 
to  help  him  in  his  hour  of  need,  to  try  and  save  him  to 
the  world,  if  that  might  be.  So  she  had  come  to  Nahoum, 
who  was  binding  him  down  on  the  bed  of  torture  and  of 
death.  And  yet,  alas!  not  herself  had  conquered  Nahoum, 
but  David,  as  Nahoum  had  said.  She  herself  had  not 
done  this  one  thing  which  would  have  compensated  for 
all  that  she  had  suffered.  This  had  not  been  permitted; 
but  it  remained  that  she  had  come  here  to  do  it,  and 
perhaps  he  would  understand  when  he  saw  her. 

Yes,  she  knew  he  would  understand  !  She  flung  up 
her  head  to  the  sun  and  Ahe  pulse-stirring  air,  and,  as 
she  did  so,  she  saw  his  javalcade  approaching.  She 
was  sure  it  was  he,  evev  when  he  was  far  off,  by  the 
same  sure  instinct  that  onvinced  him.  For  an  instant 
she  hesitated.  She  v  i  aid  turn  back,  and  meet  him 
with  the  crowd.  Thei*  she  looked  around.  The  desert 
was  deserted  by  all  save  herself  and  himself  and  those 
who  were  with  him.  No.  Her  mind  was  made  up. 
She  would  ride  forward.  She  would  be  the  first  to 
welcome  him  back  to  life  and  the  world.  He  and  she 
would  meet  alone  in  the  desert.  For  one  minute 
they    would    be    alone,     they    two,    with     the    world 

52i 


THE    WEAVERS 

afar,  they  two,  to  meet,  to  greet — -and  to  part.  Out  of 
all  that  Fate  had  to  give  of  sorrow  and  loss,  this  one 
delectable  moment,  no  matter  what  came  after. 

"David!"  she  cried  with  beating  heart,  and  rode  on, 
harder  and  harder. 

Now  she  saw  him  ride  ahead  of  the  others.  Ah,  he 
knew  that  it  was  she,  though  he  could  not  see  her 
face!  Nearer  and  nearer.  Now  they  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

She  saw  him  stop  his  camel  and  make  it  kneel  for  the 
dismounting.  She  stopped  her  horse  also,  and  slid  to  the 
ground,  and  stood  waiting,  one  hand  upon  the  horse's 
neck.  He  hastened  forward,  then  stood  still,  a  few  feet 
away,  his  eyes  on  hers,  his  helmet  off,  his  brown  hair, 
brown  as  when  she  first  saw  it — peril  and  hardship  had 
not  thinned  or  grayed  it.  For  a  moment  they  stood  so, 
for  a  moment  of  revealing  and  understanding,  but 
speechless;  and  then,  suddenly,  and  with  a  smile  infi- 
nitely touching,  she  said,  as  he  had  heard  her  say  in  the 
monastery— the  very  words: 

"Speak — speak  to  me!  " 

He  took  her  hand  in  his.  "There  is  no  need — I  have 
said  all! "  he  answered,  happiness  and  trouble  at  once  in 
his  eyes.  Then  his  face  grew  calmer.  "Thee  has  made 
it  worth  while  living  on,"  he  added. 

She  was  gaining  control  of  herself  also.  "I  said  that 
I  would  come  when  I  was  needed,"  she  answered  less 
tremblingly. 

"Thee  came  alone?"  he  asked  gently. 

"From  Assouan,  yes,"  she  said  in  a  voice  still  un- 
steady. "I  was  riding  out  to  be  by  myself,  and  then  I 
saw  you  coming,  and  I  rode  on.  I  thought  I  should 
like  to  be  the  first  to  say,  'Well  done,'  and  'God  bless 
you!'" 

He  drew  in  a  long  breath,  then  looked  at  her  keenly. 
"Lord  Eglington  is  in  Egypt  also?"  he  asked. 

522 


THE    WEAVERS 

Her  face  did  not  change.  She  looked  him  in  the 
eyes.  "No,  Eglington  would  not  come  to  help  you.  I 
came  to  Nahoum,  as  I  said  I  would." 

"Thee  has  a  good  memory,"  he  rejoined  simply. 

"I  am  a  good  friend,"  she  answered,  then  suddenly 
her  face  flushed  up,  her  breast  panted,  her  eyes  shone 
with  a  brightness  almost  intolerable  to  him,  and  he  said 
in  a  low,  shaking  voice: 

"  It  is  all  fighting,  all  fighting.  We  have  done  our 
best  ;  and  thee  has  made  all  possible." 

"David!"  she  said  in  a  voice  scarce  above  a  whisper. 

"Thee  and  me  have  far  to  go,"  he  said  in  a  voice  not 
louder  than  her  own,  "but  our  ways  may  not  be  the 
same." 

She  understood,  and  a  newer  life  leaped  up  in  her. 
She  knew  that  he  loved  her — that  was  sufficient;  the  rest 
would  be  easier  now.  Sacrifice,  all,  would  be  easier. 
To  part,  yes,  and  for  evermore;  but  to  know  that  she 
had  been  truly  loved — who  could  rob  her  of  that? 

"See,"  she  said  lightly,  "your  people  arc  waiting — 
and  there,  why,  there  is  my  cousin  Lacey.  Tom,  oh, 
Cousin  Tom!"  she  called  eagerly. 

Lacey  rode  down  on  them.  "I  swan,  butl'mglad," 
he  said,  as  he  dismounted  from  his  camel.  "Cousin 
Hylda,  I'm  blest  if  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  sing  like 
Aunt  Melissa  in  the  dairy." 

'You  may  kiss  me,  Cousin  Tom,"  she  said,  as  she 
took  his  hands  in  hers. 

He  flushed,  was  embarrassed,  then  snatched  a  kiss 
from  her  cheek.  "Say,  I'm  in  it,  ain't  I?  And  you 
were  in  it  first,  eh,  Cousin  Hylda?  The  rest  are  nowhere 
— there  they  come  from  Assouan,  Kaid,  Nahoum,  and 
the  Nubians.     Look  at  'em  glisten! 

A  hundred  of  Kaid's  Nubians  in  their  glittering  armor 
made  three  sides  of  a  quickly  moving  square,  in  the  centre 
of  which,  and  a  little  ahead,    rode  Kaid   and  Nahoum, 

523 


THE    WEAVERS 

while  behind  the  square  —  in  parade  and  gala  dress  — 
trooped  hundreds  of  soldiers  and  Egyptians  and  natives. 

Swiftly  the  two  cavalcades  approached  each  other, 
the  desert  ringing  with  the  cries  of  the  Bedouins, 
the  Nubians,  and  the  fellaheen.  They  met  on  an 
upland  of  sand,  from  which  the  wide  valley  of  the  Nile 
and  its  wild  cataracts  could  be  seen.  As  men  meet  who 
parted  yesterday,  Kaid,  Nahoum  and  David  met,  but 
Kaid's  first  quiet  words  to  David  had  behind  them  a 
world  of  meaning: 

"I  also  have  come  back,  Saadat,  to  whom  be  the 
bread  that  never  moulds  and  the  water  that  never 
stales!"  he  said,  with  a  look  in  his  face  which  had  not 
been  there  for  many  a  day.  Superstition  had  set  its 
mark  on  him — on  Claridge  Pasha's  safety  depended  his 
own,  that  was  his  belief;  and  the  look  of  this  thin, 
bronzed  face,  with  its  living  fire,  gave  him  vital  assur- 
ance of  length  of  days. 

And  David  answered,  "  May  thy  life  be  the  nursling 
of  Time,  Effendina.  I  bring  the  tribute  of  the 
rebellious  once  more  to  thy  hand.  What  was  thine,  and 
was  lost,  is  thine  once  more.     Peace  and  salaam!  " 

Between  Nahoum  and  David  there  were  no  words  at 
first  at  all.  They  shook  hands  like  Englishmen,  looking 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and  with  pride  of  what  Nahoum, 
once,  in  his  duplicity,  had  called  "perfect  friendship." 

Lacey  thought  of  this  now  as  he  looked  on;  and  not 
without  a  sense  of  irony,  he  said  under  his  breath, 
"Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian!  " 

But  in  Hylda's  look,  as  it  met  Nahoum's,  there  was 
no  doubt — what  woman  doubts  the  convert  whom  she 
thinks  she  has  helped  to  make!  Meanwhile,  the  Nu- 
bians smote  their  mailed  breasts  with  their  swords  in 
honor  of  David  and  Kaid. 

Under  the   gleaming  moon,   the  exquisite   temple  of 

524 


THE    WEAVERS 

Philae  perched  on  its  high  rock  above  the  river,  the  fires 
on  the  shore,  the  masts  of  the  dahabiehs  twinkling  with 
lights,  and  the  barbarous  songs  floating  across  the 
water,  gave  the  feeling  of  past  centuries  to  the  scene. 
From  the  splendid  boat  which  Kaid  had  placed  at  his 
disposal,  David  looked  out  upon  it  all,  with  emotions 
not  yet  wholly  mastered  by  the  true  estimate  of  what 
this  day  had  brought  to  him.  With  a  mind  unsettled 
he  listened  to  the  natives  in  the  fore-part  of  the  boat 
and  on  the  shore,  beating  the  darabukkeh  and  play- 
ing the  kemengeh.  Yet  it  was  moving  in  a  mist  and 
on  a  flood  of  greater  happiness  than  he  had  ever 
known. 

He  did  not  know,  and  Hylda  did  not  know,  that 
Eglington  was  gone  forever.  He  did  not  know  that  the 
winds  of  time  had  already  swept  away  all  traces  of  the 
house  of  ambition  which  Eglington  had  sought  to  build ; 
and  that  his  nimble  tongue  and  untrustworthy  mind 
would  never  more  delude  and  charm,  and  wanton  with 
truth.  He  did  not  know,  but  within  the  past  hour 
Hylda  knew ;  and  now  out  of  the  night  Soolsby  came  to 
tell  him. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  Soolsby 's  voice 
saying,  "Hast  nowt  to  say  to  me,  Egyptian?" 

It  startled  him;  sounded  ghostly  in  the  moonlight; 
for  why  should  he  hear  Soolsby  \s  voice  on  the  confines  of 
Egypt?  But  Soolsby  came  nearer,  and  stood  where  the 
moonlight  fell  upon  him,  hat  in  hand,  a  rustic  modern 
figure  in  this  Oriental  world. 

David  sprang  to  his  feet  and  grasped  the  old  man  by 
the  shoulders.  "Soolsby,  Soolsby,"  he  said,  with  a 
strange,  plaintive  note  in  his  voice,  yet  gladly,  too, 
"Soolsby,  thee  is  come  here  to  welcome  me!  But  has 
she  not  come — Miss  Claridge,  Soolsby?" 

He  longer]  for  that  true  heart  which  had  never  failed 
him,  the  simple  soul  whose  life  had  been  filled  by  thought 

525 


THE    WEAVERS 

and  care  of  him,  and  whose  every  act  had  for  its 
background  the  love  of  sister  for  brother, — for  that  was 
their  relation  in  every  usual  meaning — who,  too  frail 
and  broken  to  come  to  him  now,  waited  for  him  by  the 
old  hearthstone.  And  so  Soolsby,  in  his  own  way,  made 
him  understand;  for  who  knew  them  both  better  than 
this  old  man,  who  had  shared  in  David's  destiny  since 
the  fatal  day  when  Lord  Eglington  had  married  Mercy 
Claridge  in  secret,  had  set  in  motion  a  long  line  of 
tragic  happenings? 

"Ay,  she  would  have  come,  she  would  have  come," 
Soolsby  answered,  "but  she  was  not  fit  for  the  journey, 
and  there  was  little  time,  my  lord." 

"Why  did  thee  come,  Soolsby?  Only  to  welcome 
me  back?" 

"  I  come  to  bring  you  back  to  England,  to  your  duty 
there,  my  lord." 

The  first  time  Soolsby  had  used  the  words  "my  lord," 
David  had  scarcely  noticed  it,  but  its  repetition  struck 
him  strangely. 

"  Here,  sometimes  they  call  me  Pasha  and  Saadat, 
but  I  am  not  'my  lord,'  "  he  said. 

"Ay,  but  you  are  my  lord,  Egyptian,  as  sure  as  I've 
kept  my  word  to  you  that  I'd  drink  no  more,  ay,  on  my 
sacred  honor.  So  you  are  my  lord;  you  are  Lord 
Eglington,  my  lord." 

David  stood  rigid  and  almost  unblinking  as  Soolsby 
told  his  tale,  beginning  with  the  story  of  Eglington's 
death,  and  going  back  all  the  years  to  the  day  of  Mercy 
Claridge's  marriage. 

"And  him  that  never  was  Lord  Eglington,  your  own 
father's  son,  is  dead  and  gone,  my  lord;  and  you  are 
come  into  your  rights  at  last."  This  was  the  end  of 
the  tale. 

For  a  long  time  David  stood  looking  into  the  sparkling 
night  before  him,  speechless  and  unmoving,  his  hands 

526 


"DAVID    LOOKED    OUT    UPON    IT    ALT.    WITH     EMOTIONS    NOT    VI  T 
wholly    MASTERED  " 


THE    WEAVERS 

clasped  behind  him,  his  head  bent  forward,  as  though  in 
a  dream. 

How,  all  in  an  instant,  had  life  changed  for  him! 
How  had  Soolsby's  tale  of  Eglington's  death  filled  him 
with  a  pity  deeper  than  he  had  ever  felt — the  futile, 
bitter,  unaccomplished  life,  the  audacious,  brilliant 
genius  quenched,  a  genius  got  from  the  same  source 
as  his  own  resistless  energy  and  imagination,  from  the 
same  wild  spring!  Gone — all  gone,  with  only  pity  to 
cover  him,  unloved,  unloving,  unbemoaned,  save  by  the 
Quaker  girl  whose  true  spirit  he  had  hurt,  save  by  the 
wife  whom  he  had  cruelly  wronged  and  tortured;  and 
pity  was  the  thing  that  moved  them  both,  unfathomable 
and  almost  maternal,  in  that  sense  of  motherhood  which, 
in  spite  of  love  or  passion,  is  behind  both,  behind  all,  in 
every  true  woman's  life. 

At  last  David  spoke. 

"Who  knows  of  all  this — of  who  I  am,  Soolsby?" 

"Lady  Eglington  and  myself,  my  lord." 

"Only  she  and  you?" 

"Only  us  two,  Egyptian." 

"Then  let  it  be  so — forever." 

Soolsby  was  startled,  dumfounded. 

"But  you  will  take  your  title  and  estates,  my  lord; 
you  will  take  the  place  which  is  your  own." 

"And  prove  my  grandfather  wrong?  Had  he  not 
enough  sorrow?  And  change  my  life,  all  to  please  thee, 
Soolsby?" 

He  took  the   old  man's  shoulders   in  his   hands  again. 

'  Thee  has  done  thy  duty  as  few  in  this  world,  Soolsby, 

and  given  friendship  such  as  few  give.     But  thee  must 

be  content.     I  am  David  Claridge,  and  so  shall  remain 

ever." 

'Then,  since  he  has  no  male  kin,  the  title  dies,  and  all 
that's  his  will  go  to  her  ladyship,"  Soolsby  rejoined 
sourly 

527 


THE    WEAVERS 

"Does  thee  grudge  her  ladyship  what  was  his?" 
"I  grudge  her  what  is  yours,  my  lord — " 
Suddenly  Soolsby  paused,  as  though  a  new  thought 
had  come  to  him,  and  he  nodded  to  himself  in  satisfac- 
tion. 'Well,  since  you  will  have  it  so,  it  will  be  so, 
Egyptian;  but  it  is  a  queer  fuddle,  all  of  it;  and  where's 
the  way  out,  tell  me  that,  my  lord?" 

David  spoke  impatiently.    "  Call  me  '  my  lord '  no  more. 
.    .    .    But   I  will   go  back    to  England    to    her    that's 
waiting  at  the   Red  Mansion,   and  you  will  remember 
Soolsby—" 

Slowly  the  great  flotilla  of  dahabiehs  floated  with  the 
strong  current  down  towards  Cairo,  the  great  sails 
swelling  to  the  breeze  that  blew  from  the  Libyan  Hills. 
Along  the  bank  of  the  Nile  thousands  of  Arabs  and 
fellaheen  crowded  to  welcome  "the  Saadat,"  bringing 
gifts  of  dates  and  eggs  and  fowls  and  dourha  and  sweet- 
meats, and  linen  cloth;  and  even  in  the  darkness  and  in 
the  trouble  that  was  on  her,  and  the  harrowing  regret 
that  she  had  not  been  with  Eglington  in  his  last  hour, — 
she  little  knew  what  Eglington  had  said  to  Faith  in 
that  last  hour — Hylda's  heart  was  soothed  by  the  long, 
loud  tribute  paid  to  David. 

As  she  sat  in  the  evening  light,  David  and  Lacey 
came,  and  were  received  by  the  Duchess  of  Snowdon, 
who  could  only  say  to  David,  as  she  held  his  hand, 
"Windlehurst  sent  his  regards  to  you,  his  loving 
regards.  He  was  sure  you  would  come  home — come 
home.     He  wished  he  were  in  power  for  your  sake." 

So,  for  a  few  moments  she  talked  vaguely,  and  said  at 
last,  "But  Lady  Eglington,  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you, 
such  old  friends  as  you  are,  though  not  so  old  as  Windle- 
hurst and  me — thirty  years,  over  thirty,  la,  la!  " 

They  turned  to  go  to  Hylda,  and  came  face  to  face 
with  Kate  Heaver. 

528 


THE    WEAVERS 

Kate  looked  at  David  as  one  would  look  who  saw  a 
lost  friend  return  from  the  dead.  His  eyes  lighted,  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"It  is  good  to  see  thee  here,"  he  said  gently. 

"And  'tis  the  cross-roads  once  again,  sir,"  she  rejoined. 

"Thee  means  thee  will  marry  Jasper?" 

"Ay,  I  will  marry  Jasper  now,"  she  answered. 

"It  has  been  a  long  waiting." 

"It    could    not   be    till    now,"    she  responded. 

David  looked  at  her  reflectively,  and  said:  "By 
devious  ways  the  human  heart  comes  home.  One  can 
only  stand  in  the  door  and  wait.     He  has  been  patient." 

"I  have  been  patient,  too,"  she  answered. 

As  the  Duchess  disappeared  with  David,  a  swift 
change  came  over  Lacey.  He  spun  round  on  one  toe, 
and,  like  a  boy  of  ten,  careered  around  the  deck,  to  the 
tune  of  a  negro  song. 

"Say,  things  are  all  right  in  there,  with  them  two,  and 
it's  my  turn  now,"  he  said.  "Cute  as  she  can  be,  and 
knows  the  game!  Twice  a  widow,  and  knows  the  game! 
Waiting,  she  is  down  in  Cairo,  where  the  orange  blos- 
som grows.  I'm  in  it;  we're  all  in  it — every  one  of  us. 
Cousin  Hylda's  free  now,  and  I've  got  no  past  worth 
speaking  of;  and,  anyhow,  she'll  understand,  down 
there  in  Cairo.     Cute  as  she  can  be — " 

Suddenly  he  swung  himself  down  to  the  deck  below. 
'The   desert's  the  place  for  me  to-night,"  he  said. 

Stepping  ashore,  he  turned  to  where  the  Duchess 
stood  on  the  deck,  gazing  out  into  the  night.  "Well, 
give  my  love  to  the  girls,"  he  called,  waving  a  hand 
upwards,  as  it  were,  to  the  wide  world,  and  disappeared 
into   the   alluring  whiteness. 

"I've  got  to  get  a  key-thought,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  as  lie  walked  swiftly  on,  till  only  faint  sounds 
came  to  him  from  the  riverside.  In  the  letter  he  had 
written  to  Hylda,  which  was  the  turning-point  of  all  for 

529 


THE    WEAVERS 

her,  he  had  spoken  of  these  "key-thoughts."  With  all 
the  childishness  he  showed  at  times,  he  had  felt  his  way 
into  spheres  where  life  had  depth  and  meaning.  The 
desert  had  justified  him  to  himself  and  before  the  spirits 
of  departed  peoples,  who  wandered  over  the  sands,  until 
at  last  they  became  sand  also,  and  were  blown  hither 
and  thither,  to  make  beds  for  thousands  of  desert 
wayfarers,  or  paths  for  camels'  feet,  or  a  blinding  storm 
to  overwhelm  the  traveller  and  the  caravan ;  life  giving 
and  taking,  and  absorbing  and  destroying,  and  destroying 
■and  absorbing,  till  the  circle  of  human  existence  wheel 
to  the  full,  and  the  task  of  Time  be  accomplished. 

On  the  gorse-grown  common  above  Hamley,  David 
and  Faith,  and  David's  mother  Mercy,  had  felt  the  same 
soul  of  things  stirring — in  the  green  things  of  green 
England,  in  the  arid  wastes  of  the  Libyan  desert,  on  the 
bosom  of  the  Nile,  where  Mahommed  Hassan  now  lay 
in  a  nugger  singing  a  song  of  passion,  Nature,  with 
burning  voice,  murmuring  down  the  unquiet  world  its 
message  of  the  Final  Peace  through  the  innumerable 
years. 

[the  end.] 


GLOSSARY 


Aiwa,  Yes. 

Allah  hn  Achbar,  God  is  most  great. 

Al'mah,  female  professional  singers,  signifying  "  a  learned  female." 

Ardab,  a  measure  equivalent  to  five  English  bushels. 

Backsheesh,  tip,  douceur. 

Balass,  earthen  vessel  for  carrying  water. 

Bdsha,  Pasha. 

Bersim,  clover. 

Bismillah.  in  the  name  of  God. 

Bowdb,  a  doorkeeper. 

Dahabieh,  a  Nile  houseboat  with  large  lateen  sails. 
Dambnkkeh,  a  drum  made  of  a  SKin  stretched  over  an  earthen- 
ware funnel. 
Dour  ha,  maize. 

Effendina,  most  noble. 

El  Azhar,  the  Arab  university  at  Cairo. 

Feddan,  a  measure  of  land  representing  about  an  acre. 
Fellah,  the  Egyptian  peasant. 

Ghiassa,  small  boat. 

Hakim,  doctor. 
Hasheesh,  leaves  of  hemp. 

Inshallah,  God  willing. 

Kdnoon,  a  musical  instrument  like  a  dulcimer. 
/  a  ass,  an  orderly. 
Kemengeh,  a  cocoanut  fiddle. 

531 


GLOSSARY 

Khamsin,  a  hot  wind  of  Egypt  and  the  Soudan. 
Kourbash,  a  whip,  often  made  of  rhinoceros  hide. 

Ld  ilaha  illa-lldh,  there  is  no  deity  but  God. 

Malaish,  no  matter. 

Malboos,  demented. 

Mastaba,  a  bench. 

Medjidic,  a  Turkish  order. 

Moufettish,  High  Steward. 

Mudir,  the  Governor  of  a  Mudirich,  or  province. 

Muezzin,  the  sheikh  of  the  mosque  who  calls  to  prayer. 

Mooshrabieh,  lattice  window. 

Neboot,  a  quarter-staff. 
Narghileh,  a  Persian  pipe. 

Ramadan,  the  Mahommedan  season  of  fasting. 

Saadat-el-Bdsha,  Excellency,  Pasha. 
Sdis,  groom. 

Sakkia,  the  Persian  water-wheel. 
Salaam,  Eastern  salutation. 
Sheikh-el-beled,  head  of  a  village. 

Tarboosh,  a  Turkish  turban. 

Ulema,  learned  men. 

Wakf,  Mahommedan  court  dealing  with  succession,  etc. 
Welee,  a  holy  man,  or  saint. 

Yashmak,  a  veil  for  the  lower  part  of  the  face. 
Yelek,  a  long  vest  or  smock. 


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